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THE 

STONES  OF  VENICE 

VOLUME  I— THE  FOUNDATIONS 
VOLUME  II— THE  SEA-STORIES 


BY 

JOHN  RUSKIN,  M.A. 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  SEVEN   LAMPS  OF  ARCHITECTURE,"   "  THE  CROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE," 
14  SESAME  AND  LILIES,"  ETC. 


ALDINE 


BOSTON 
BOOK  PUBLISHING  CO. 

PUBLISHERS 


PREFACE. 


In  the  course  of  arranging  the  following  essay,  I  put  many 
things  aside  in  my  thoughts  to  be  said  in  the  Preface,  things 
which  I  shall  now  put  aside  altogether,  and  pass  by  ;  for  when 
a  book  has  been  advertised  a  year  and  a  half,  it  seems  best  to 
present  it  with  as  little  preface  as  possible. 

Thus  much,  however,  it  is  necessary  for  the  reader  to  know, 
that,  when  I  planned  the  work,  I  had  materials  by  me,  col- 
lected at  different  times  of  sojourn  in  Venice  during  the  last 
seventeen  years,  which  it  seemed  to  me  might  be  arranged 
with  little  difficulty,  and  which  I  believe  to  be  of  value  as 
illustrating  the  history  of  Southern  Gothic.  Eequiring,  how- 
ever, some  clearer  assurance  respecting  certain  points  of 
chronology,  I  went  to  Venice  finally  in  the  autumn  of  1849, 
not  doubting  but  that  the  dates  of  the  principal  edifices  of 
the  ancient  city  were  either  ascertained,  or  ascertainable  with- 
out extraordinary  research.  To  my  consternation,  I  found 
that  the  Venetian  antiquaries  were  not  agreed  within  a  cen- 
tury as  to  the  date  of  the  building  of  the  facades  of  the  Ducal 
Palace,  and  that  nothing  was  known  of  any  other  civil  edifice 
of  the  early  city,  except  that  at  some  time  or  other  it  had  been 
fitted  up  for  somebody's  reception,  and  been  thereupon  fresh 
painted.  Every  date  in  question  was  determinable  only  by 
internal  evidence,  and  it  became  necessary  for  me  to  examine 
not  only  every  one  of  the  older  palaces,  stone  by  stone,  but 
every  fragment  throughout  the  city  which  afforded  any  clue 
to  the  formation  of  its  styles.  This  I  did  as  well  as  I  could, 
and  I  believe  there  will  be  found,  in  the  following  pages,  the  <\ 
only  existing  account  of  the  details  of  early  Venetian  architect* 


4 


PREFACE. 


ure  on  which  dependence  can  be  placed,  as  far  as  it  goea  1 
do  not  care  to  point  out  the  deficiencies  of  other  works  on  this 
subject  ;  the  reader  will  find,  if  he  examines  them,  either  that 
the  buildings  to  which  I  shall  specially  direct  his  attention 
have  been  hitherto  undescribed,  or  else  that  there  are  great 
discrepancies  between  previous  descriptions  and  mine  :  for 
which  discrepancies  I  may  be  permitted  to  give  this  single  and 
sufficient  reason,  that  my  account  of  every  building  is  based 
on  personal  examination  and  measurement  of  it,  and  that  my 
taking  the  pains  so  to  examine  what  I  had  to  describe,  was  a 
subject  of  grave  surprise  to  my  Italian  friends.  The  work  of 
the  Marchese  Selvatico  is,  however,  to  be  distinguished  with 
respect ;  it  is  clear  in  arrangement,  and  full  of  useful,  though 
vague,  information  ;  and  I  have  found  cause  to  adopt,  in  great 
measure,  its  views  of  the  chronological  succession  of  the 
edifices  of  Venice.  I  shall  have  cause  hereafter  to  quarrel  with 
it  on  other  grounds,  but  not  without  expression  of  gratitude 
for  the  assistance  it  has  given  me.  Fontana's  "Fabbriche  di 
Venezia  "  is  also  historically  valuable,  but  does  not  attempt  to 
give  architectural  detail.  Cicognara,  as  is  now  generally 
known,  is  so  inaccurate  as  hardly  to  deserve  mention. 

Indeed,  it  is  not  easy  to  be  accurate  in  an  account  of  any- 
thing, however  simple.  Zoologists  often  disagree  in  their  de- 
scriptions of  the  curve  of  a  shell,  or  the  plumage  of  a  bird, 
though  they  may  lay  their  specimen  on  the  table,  and  ex- 
amine it  at  their  leisure  ;  how  much  greater  becomes  the  like- 
lihood of  error  in  the  description  of  things  which  must  be  in 
many  parts  observed  from  a  distance,  or  under  unfavorable 
circumstances  of  light  and  shade  ;  and  of  which  many  of  the 
distinctive  features  have  been  worn  away  by  time.  I  believe 
few  people  have  any  idea  of  the  cost  of  truth  in  these  things  ; 
of  the  expenditure  of  time  necessary  to  make  sure  of  the  sim- 
plest facts,  and  of  the  strange  way  in  which  separate  obser- 
vations will  sometimes  falsify  each  other,  incapable  of  recon- 
cilement, owing  to  some  imperceptible  inadvertency.  I  am 
ashamed  of  the  number  of  times  in  which  I  have  had  to  say, 
in  the  following  pages,  "I  am  not  sure,"  and  I  claim  for  them 
no  authority,  as  if  they  were  thoroughly  sifted  from  error, 


PREFACE. 


5 


even  in  what  they  more  confidently  state.  Only,  as  far  as  my 
time,  and  strength,  and  mind  served  me,  I  have  endeavored, 
down  to  the  smallest  matters,  to  ascertain  and  speak  the  truth. 

Nor  was  the  subject  without  many  and  most  discouraging 
difficulties,  peculiar  to  itself.  As  far  as  my  inquiries  have  ex- 
tended, there  is  not  a  building  in  Venice,  raised  prior  to  the 
sixteenth  century,  which  has  not  sustained  essential  change  in 
one  or  more  of  its  most  important  features.  By  far  the 
greater  number  present  examples  of  three  or  four  different 
styles,  it  may  be  successive,  it  may  be  accidentally  associated  ; 
and,  in  many  instances,  the  restorations  or  additions  have 
gradually  replaced  the  entire  structure  of  the  ancient  fabric, 
of  which  nothing  but  the  name  remains,  together  with  a  kind 
of  identity,  exhibited  in  the  anomalous  association  of  the 
modernized  portions :  the  Will  of  the  old  building  asserted 
through  them  all,  stubbornly,  though  vainly,  expressive; 
superseded  by  codicils,  and  falsified  by  misinterpretation ;  yet 
animating  what  would  otherwise  be  a  mere  group  of  fantastic 
masque,  as  embarrassing  to  the  antiquary,  as  to  the  miner- 
alogist, the  epigene  crystal,  formed  by  materials  of  one  sub- 
stance modelled  on  the  perished  crystals  of  another.  The 
church  of  St.  Mark's  itself,  harmonious  as  its  structure  may 
at  first  sight  appear,  is  an  epitome  of  the  changes  of  Venetian 
architecture  from  the  tenth  to  the  nineteenth  century.  Its 
crypt,  and  the  line  of  low  arches  which  support  the  screen, 
are  apparently  the  earliest  portions ;  the  lower  stories  of  the 
main  fabric  are  of  the  eleventh  and  twelfth  centuries,  with 
later  Gothic  interpolations  ;  the  pinnacles  are  of  the  earliest 
fully  developed  Venetian  Gothic  (fourteenth  century)  ;  but 
one  of  them,  that  on  the  projection  of  the  eastern  extremity 
of  the  Piazzetta  de  Leoni,  is  of  far  finer,  and  probably  earlier 
workmanship  than  all  the  rest.  The  southern  range  of 
pinnacles  is  again  inferior  to  the  northern  and  western,  and 
visibly  of  later  date.  Then  the  screen,  which  most  writers 
have  described  as  part  of  the  original  fabric,  bears  its  date 
inscribed  on  its  architrave,  1394,  and  with  it  are  associated  a 
multitude  of  small  screens,  balustrades,  decorations  of  the  in- 
terior building,  and  probably  the  rose  window  of  the  south 


0 


PREFACE. 


transept.  Then  come  thfc  interpolated  traceries  of  the  front 
and  sides  ;  then  the  crocketings  of  the  upper  arches,  extrava- 
gances of  the  incipient  Benaissance  :  and,  finally,  the  figures 
which  carry  the  water-spouts  on  the  north  side — utterly 
barbarous  seventeenth  or  eighteenth  century  work— connect 
the  whole  with  the  plastered  restorations  of  the  year  1844 
and  1845.  Most  of  the  palaces  in  Venice  have  sustained  in- 
terpolations hardly  less  numerous  ;  and  those  of  the  Ducal 
Palace  are  so  intricate,  that  a  year's  labor  would  probably  be 
insufficient  altogether  to  disentangle  and  define  them.  I 
therefore  gave  up  all  thoughts  of  obtaining  a  perfectly  clear 
chronological  view  of  the  early  architecture  ;  but  the  dates 
necessary  to  the  main  purposes  of  the  book  the  reader  will 
find  well  established ;  and  of  the  evidence  brought  forward 
for  those  of  less  importance,  he  is  himself  to  judge.  Doubtful 
estimates  are  never  made  grounds  of  argument ;  and  the  ac- 
curacy of  the  account  of  the  buildings  themselves,  for  which 
alone  I  pledge  myself,  is  of  course  entirely  independent  of 
them.  4 

In  like  manner,  as  the  statements  briefly  made  in  the  chap- 
ters on  construction  involve  questions  so  difficult  and  so  gen- 
eral, that  I  cannot  hope  that  every  expression  referring  to 
them  will  be  found  free  from  error :  and  as  the  conclusions 
to  which  I  have  endeavored  to  lead  the  reader  are  thrown  into 
a  form  the  validity  of  which  depends  on  that  of  each  succes- 
sive step,  it  might  be  argued,  if  fallacy  or  weakness  could  be 
detected  in  one  of  them,  that  all  the  subsequent  reasonings 
were  valueless.  The  reader  may  be  assured,  however,  that  it 
is  not  so  ;  the  method  of  proof  used  in  the  following  essay 
being  only  one  out  of  many  which  were  in  my  choice,  adopted 
because  it  seemed  to  me  the  shortest  and  simplest,  not  as  be- 
ing the  strongest.  In  many  cases,  the  conclusions  are  those 
which  men  of  quick  feeling  would  arrive  at  instinctively  ;  and 
I  then  sought  to  discover  the  reasons  of  what  so  strongly 
recommended  itself  as  truth.  Though  these  reasons  could 
every  one  of  them,  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  the  book, 
be  proved  insufficient,  the  truth  of  its  conclusions  would  re- 
main the  same.    I  should  only  regret  that  I  had  dishonored 


PREFACE. 


1 


them  by  an  ill-grounded  defence  ;  and  endeavor  to  repair  my 
error  by  a  better  one. 

I  have  not,  however,  written  carelessly  ;  nor  should  I  in 
any  wise  have  expressed  doubt  of  the  security  of  the  follow- 
ing argument,  but  that  it  is  physically  impossible  for  me,  be- 
ing engaged  quite  as  much  with  mountains,  and  clouds,  and 
trees,  and  criticism  of  painting,  as  with  architecture,  to  verify, 
as  I  should  desire,  the  expression  of  every  sentence  bearing 
upon  empirical  and  technical  matters.  Life  is  not  long 
enough  ;  nor  does  a  day  pass  by  without  causing  me  to  feel 
more  bitterly  the  impossibility  of  carrying  out  to  the  extent 
which  I  should  desire,  the  separate  studies  which  general 
criticism  continually  forces  me  to  undertake.  I  can  only  as- 
sure the  reader,  that  he  will  find  the  certainty  of  every  state- 
ment I  permit  myself  to  make,  increase  with  its  importance  ; 
and  that,  for  the  security  of  the  final  conclusions  of  the  fol- 
lowing essay,  as  well  as  for  the  resolute  veracity  of  its  account 
of  whatever  facts  have  come  under  my  own  immediate  cogni- 
zance, I  will  pledge  myself  to  the  uttermost. 

It  was  necessary,  to  the  accomplishment  of  the  purpose  of 
the  work  (of  which  account  is  given  in  the  First  Chapter),  that 
I  should  establish  some  canons  of  judgment,  which  the  gen- 
eral reader  should  thoroughly  understand,  and,  if  it  pleased 
him,  accept,  before  we  took  cognizance,  together,  of  any 
architecture  whatsoever.  It  has  taken  me  more  time  and 
trouble  to  do  this  than  I  expected  ;  but,  if  I  have  succeeded, 
the  thing  done  will  be  of  use  for  many  other  purposes  than 
that  to  which  it  is  now  put.  The  establishment  of  these 
canons,  which  I  have  called  "  the  Foundations,"  and  some  ac- 
count of  the  connection  of  Venetian  architecture  with  that  of 
the  rest  of  Europe,  have  filled  the  present  volume.  The 
second  will,  I  hope,  contain  all  I  have  to  say  about  Venice 
itself. 

It  was  of  course  inexpedient  to  reduce  drawings  of  crowded 
details  to  the  size  of  an  octavo  volume, — I  do  not  say  impossi- 
ble, but  inexpedient ;  requiring  infinite  pains  on  the  part  of 
the  engraver,  with  no  result  except  farther  pains  to  the  be- 
holder.   And  as,  on  the  other  hand,  folio  books  are  not  eas? 


s 


PREFACE. 


reading,  I  determined  to  separate  the  text  and  the  unreduci- 
ble plates.  I  have  given,  with  the  principal  text,  all  the  illus- 
trations absolutely  necessary  to  the  understanding  of  it,  and, 
in  the  detached  work,  such  additional  text  as  has  special  refer- 
ence to  the  larger  illustrations. 

A  considerable  number  of  these  larger  plates  were  at  first 
intended  to  be  executed  in  tinted  lithography ;  but,  finding 
the  result  unsatisfactory,  I  have  determined  to  prepare  the 
principal  subjects  for  mezzotinting, — a  change  of  method  re- 
quiring two  new  drawings  to  be  made  of  every  subject ;  one 
a  carefully  penned  outline  for  the  etcher,  and  then  a  finished 
drawing  upon  the  etching.  This  work  does  not  proceed 
fast,  while  I  am  also  occupied  with  the  completion  of  the 
text ;  but  the  numbers  of  it  will  appear  as  fast  as  I  can  pre- 
pare them. 

For  the  illustrations  of  the  body  of  the  work  itself,  I  have 
used  any  kind  of  engraving  which  seemed  suited  to  the  sub- 
jects— line  and  mezzotint,  on  steel,  with  mixed  lithographs 
and  woodcuts,  at  considerable  loss  of  uniformity  in  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  volume,  but,  I  hope,  with  advantage,  in  ren- 
dering the  character  of  the  architecture  it  describes.  And 
both  in  the  plates  and  the  text  I  have  aimed  chiefly  at  clear 
intelligibility ;  that  any  one,  however  little  versed  in  the  sub- 
ject, might  be  able  to  take  up  the  book,  and  understand  what 
it  meant  forthwith.  I  have  utterly  failed  of  my  purpose,  if  I 
have  not  made  all  the  essential  parts  of  the  essay  intelligible 
to  the  least  learned,  and  easy  to  the  most  desultory  readers, 
who  are  likely  to  take  interest  in  the  matter  at  all.  There 
are  few  passages  which  even  require  so  much  as  an  acquaint- 
ance with  the  elements  of  Euclid,  and  these  may  be  missed, 
without  harm  to  the  sense  of  the  rest,  by  every  reader  to 
whom  they  may  appear  mysterious  ;  and  the  architectural 
terms  necessarily  employed  (which  are  very  few)  are  ex- 
plained as  they  occur,  or  in  a  note  ;  so  that,  though  I  may 
often  be  found  trite  or  tedious,  I  trust  that  I  shall  not  be  ob- 
scure. I  am  especially  anxious  to  rid  this  essay  of  ambiguity, 
because  I  want  to  gain  the  ear  of  all  kinds  of  persons.  Every 
man  has,  at  some  time  of  his  life,  personal  interest  in  arch* 


PREFACE. 


9 


tecture.  He  has  influence  on  the  design  of  some  public* 
building  ;  or  he  has  to  buy,  or  build,  or  alter  his  own  house. 
It  signifies  less  whether  the  knowledge  of  other  arts  be  gen- 
eral or  not ;  men  may  live  without  buying  pictures  or  statues  : 
but,  in  architecture,  all  must  in  some  way  commit  themselves ; 
they  must  do  mischief,  and  waste  their  money,  if  they  do  not 
know  how  to  turn  it  to  account.  Churches,  and  shops,  and 
warehouses,  and  cottages,  and  small  row,  and  place,  and  ter- 
race houses,  must  be  built,  and  lived  in,  however  joyless  or 
inconvenient.  And  it  is  assuredly  intended  that  all  of  us 
should  have  knowledge,  and  act  upon  our  knowledge,  in 
matters  with  which  we  are  daily  concerned,  and  not  to  be  left 
to  the  caprice  of  architects  or  mercy  of  contractors.  There 
is  not,  indeed,  anything  in  the  following  essay  bearing  on 
the  special  forms  and  needs  of  modern  buildings  ;  but 
the  principles  it  inculcates  are  universal ;  and  they  are  il- 
lustrated from  the  remains  of  a  city  which  should  surely 
be  interesting  to  the  men  of  London,  as  affording  the 
richest  existing  examples  of  architecture  raised  by  a  mercan- 
tile community,  for  civil  uses,  and  domestic  magnificence. 
Denmark  Hill,  February,  1851. 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Preface,  3 

CHAPTER  I. 

The  Quarry,  .    .  •       •       •  .15 

CHAPTER  IL 

The  Virtues  of  Architecture,  48 

CHAPTER  III. 

The  Six  Divisions  of  Architecture,  59 
CHAPTER  IV. 

The  Wall  Base,  63 

CHAPTER  V. 

The  Wall  Veil,  68 

CHAPTER  VI. 

The  Wall  Cornice,  72 

CHAPTER  VII. 

The  Pier  Base,  80 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

The  Shaft,    .      .      .      .      .      .      .      •      ...  93 

CHAPTER  IX. 

The  Capital,  •      *      *  112 

CHAPTER  X.  ^ 
The  Arch  Line,  128 


12  CONTENTS. 

PAOB 

CHAPTER  XI. 

The  Arch  Masonry,         .       .  137 

CHAPTER  XII. 

The  Arch  Load,   149 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

The  Roof,        .  .       .       .       ...      .       .  .153 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

The  Roof  Cornice,  158 

CHAPTER  XV. 

The  Buttress,  .       .       .  169 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

Form  of  Aperture,   .  ,176 

CHAPTER  XVII. 
Filling  of  Aperture,        .       .       .       .  *    .       .       ,       .       .  185 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
Protection  of  Aperture,        .       .       .      .       .      .      .      .  196 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

Superimposition,   200 

CHAPTER  XX. 

The  Material  of  Ornament,  211 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

Treatment  of  Ornament,  •      •      .  235 

CHAPTER  XXII. 
The  Angle,   .  257 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 
The  Edge  and  Fillet,      .  264 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

The  Roll  and  Recess,  #  273 


CONTENTS.  13 

FAGB 

CHAPTER  XXV. 
The  Base,  277 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 
The  Wall  Veil  and  Shaft,  289 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 
The  Cornice  and  Capital,  299 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 
The  Archivolt  and  Aperture,       .       .       .      ..      •      •       .  326 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 
The  Roof,  .335 

CHAPTER  XXX. 
The  Vestibule,  341 


APPENDIX. 


1.  Foundation  of  Venice,   351 

2.  Power  of  the  Doges,      .   352 

3.  Serrar  del  Consiglio,   352 

4.  S.  Pietro  di  Castello,   353 

5.  Papal  Power  in  Venice,    .       .       •      „       •      •      •       .  354 

6.  Renaissance  Ornaments,   362 

7.  Varieties  of  the  Orders,  .363 

8.  The  Northern  Energy,   364 

9.  Wooden  Churches  of  the  North,   374 

10.  Church  of  Alexandria,                                               .       .  375 

11.  Renaissance  Landscape,   375 

12.  Romanist  Modern  Art,  ........  377 

13.  Mr.  Fergusson's  System,   382 

14.  Divisions  of  Humanity,   389  ^ 


14  CONTENTS. 

PAQH 

15.  Instinctive  Judgments,     ........  394 

IG.  Strength  of  Shafts,  397 

17.  Answer  to  Mr.  Garbett,  398 

18.  Early  English  Capitals,  .       .    -   ,       I       .       .       .  .407 

19.  Tombs  near  St.  An  astasia,  ...••»*  408 

20.  Shafts  of  Ducal  Palace,   .409 

21.  Ancient  Eepresentations  of  Water,  412 

22.  Arabian  Ornamentation,  ...       .       •       .       •       •  425 

23.  Varieties  of  Chamfer,  425 

24.  Renaissance  Bases,  •       •  427 

25.  Romanist  Decoration  of  Bases,  428 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

STONES  OF  VENICE,  VOLUME  ONE. 


PACING 

PLATE  PAGE 

1.  Wall-veil  Decoration.    (W  Trevisan,  Ca'  Dario,       •       .  .27 

2.  Plans  of  Piers,  108 

3.  Arch  Masonry,  139 

4.  Arch  Masonry,  141 

5.  Arch  Masonry.    Broletto  of  Como,  147 

6.  Types  of  Towers,  207 

7.  Abstract  Lines,  ...........  222 

8.  Decorations  by  Disks.    Palazzo  Dei  Badoari  Partecipazzi,     .  240 

9.  Edge  Decoration,  265 

10.  Profile  of  Bases,     .       .       .  280 

11.  Plans  of  Bases,  .       .       .       .       ♦       .  .       .  .283 

12.  Decoration  of  Bases,      .       .       •       .       .       .       .       .  288 

13.  Wall-veil  Decoration,       ........  291 

14.  Spandril  Decoration,      .       •  294 

15.  Cornice  Profiles,  •      .       .       .  300 

16.  Cornice  Decoration,  305 

17.  Capitals.    Concave  Group,       .......  317 

18.  Capitals.    Convex, .   321 

19.  Archivolt  Decoration  at  Verona,  326 

20.  Wall-veil  Decoration.    Ca'  Trevisan,  362 

21.  Wall- veil  Decoration,  369 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

FIGURE  PAGE 

1.  Roofs,  61 

2.  Wall,   67 

3.  Lines  on  Walls,     .   72 

4.  Wall  Cornices,  73 

5.  Wall  Cornices,   75 

6.  Wall  Cornices,  78 

7.  Wall  Cornices,   78 

8.  Wall  Cornices,  79 

9.  Wall  Plan,  81 

10.  Pillars,   84 

11.  Pillars,  84 

12.  Pillars  and  Bases,  87 

13.  Shaft  in  Rough,  94 

14.  Shaft  Plans,      .       .       .       .       .       .       .       .       .  .100 

15.  Shaft  Plans,   101 

16.  Shaft  Plans,   102 

17.  Shaft  Plans,  109 

18.  Shaft  Plans,  109 

19.  Capitals,        .       .       •  113 

20.  Abacus,     .  115 

21.  Capitals,  116 

22.  Capitals  Truncated,  117 

23.  Capitals,   .       .       .  .118 

24.  Capitals,  120 

25.  Capitals,  121 

26.  Capitals,    .   121 

27.  Venetian  Windows,  124 

28.  Part  of  Church  Santa  Fosca,  125 

29.  Arch  Lines,  129 

30.  Arch  Lines,  133 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


FIGURE  PAGE 

31.  Arch  Lines,  134 

32.  Horseshoe  Arch,  135 

33.  Arch  Lines,  138 

34.  Side  Arch,  148 

35.  Arch  Loads,  •  149 

30.  Arch  Front,  150 

37.  Gabled  Roof,  154 

38.  Bracket,    .   163 

39.  Stone  or  Timber  Bracket,  164 

40.  Brick  Bracket,  165 

41.  Renaissance  Bracket,     .       .       .       .       .       •       .       .  165 

42.  Southern  Apse,  174 

43.  Aperture  Plan,  178 

44.  Window  Ovals,  183 

45.  Window  Bars,  187 

46.  Window  Bars,  193 

47.  Window  Bars,  194 

48.  Door  Protections,      .........  197 

49.  Door  Protections,  Fiesole,  197 

50.  Door  Protections,  Plans,  198 

51.  Angle  Plan,  258 

52.  Angle  Mouldings,  Ornamental,  260 

53.  Angle  Mouldings,  Ornamental,     ......  261 

54.  Angle  Mouldings,  Ornamental,   262 

55.  Angle  Mouldings,  Ornamental,  263 

56.  Dog  Tooth  Edge,      .       .       .       .       .      .       .       .       .  268 

57.  Byzantine  Stilted  Arches,  269 

58.  Curved  Arch  Armor, .       .      .       •  270 

59.  Lower  Roll,  -  282 

60.  Base  Roll,   283 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


FIGURE  PAGE 

61.  Spandril  Space,  293 

62.  Shaft  from  St.  Zeno,  298 

63.  Cornice  Plans,  312 

G4.  Cornice  Plans,   314 

65.  Plan  of  Capitals,   .       .  .317 

66.  Plan  of  Capitals,  322 

67.  Plan  of  Capitals,  322 

68.  Plan  of  Capitals,  323 

69.  Archivolt,  .  326 

70.  Archivolt  Decoration.    Southern  and  Byzantine,     •       .       .  329 
Sea,  by  Greek  Architect,       .......  344 

71.  River,  by  Egyptian  Artist,        .       .       .       .       i       .  .415 

72.  Varieties  of  Chamfer,  426 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


CHAPTER  L 

THE  QUARRY. 

§  i.  Since  the  first  dominion  of  men  was  asserted  over  th6 
ocean,  three  thrones,  of  mark  beyond  all  others,  have  been  set 
upon  its  sands  :  the  thrones  of  Tyre,  Venice,  and  England.  Of 
the  First  of  these  great  powers  only  the  memory  remains ;  of  the 
Second,  the  ruin  ;  the  Third,  which  inherits  their  greatness,  if 
it  forget  their  example,  may  be  led  through  prouder  eminence 
to  less  pitied  destruction. 

The  exaltation,  the  sin,  and  the  punishment  of  Tyre  have 
been  recorded  for  us,  in  perhaps  the  most  touching  words  ever 
uttered  by  the  Prophets  of  Israel  against  the  cities  of  the 
stranger.  But  we  read  them  as  a  lovely  song  ;  and  close  our 
ears  to  the  sternness  of  their  warning  :  for  the  very  depth  of 
the  Fall  of  Tyre  has  blinded  us  to  its  reality,  and  we  forget, 
as  we  watch  the  bleaching  of  the  rocks  between  the  sunshine 
and  the  sea,  that  they  were  once  "  as  in  Eden,  the  garden  of 
God." 

Her  successor,  like  her  in  perfection  of  beauty,  though  less 
in  endurance  of  dominion,  is  still  left  for  our  beholding  in  the 
final  period  of  her  decline  :  a  ghost  upon  the  sands  of  the  sea, 
so  weak — so  quiet, — so  bereft  of  all  but  her  loveliness,  that  we 
might  well  doubt,  as  we  watched  her  faint  reflection  in  the 
mirage  of  the  lagoon,  which  was  the  City,  and  which  the 
Shadow. 

I  would  endeavor  to  trace  the  lines  of  this  image  before  it 
be  for  ever  lost,  and  to  record,  as  far  as  I  may,  the  warning 
which  seems  to  me  to  be  uttered  by  every  one  of  the  fast-  "\ 


16 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


gaining  waves,  that  beat,  like  passing  bells,  against  the  Stones 
of  Venice. 

§  n.  It  would  be  difficult  to  overrate  the  value  of  the  les- 
sons which  might  be  derived  from  a  faithful  study  of  the  his- 
tory of  this  strange  and  mighty  city  :  a  history  which,  in  spite 
of  the  labor  of  countless  chroniclers,  remains  in  vague  and  dis- 
putable outline, — barred  with  brightness  and  shade,  like  the 
far  away  edge  of  her  own  ocean,  where  the  surf  and  the  sand- 
bank are  mingled  with  the  sky.  The  inquiries  in  which  we 
have  to  engage  will  hardly  render  this  outline  clearer,  but 
their  results  will,  in  some  degree,  alter  its  aspect ;  and,  so  far 
as  they  bear  upon  it  at  all,  they  possess  an  interest  of  a  far 
higher  kind  than  that  usually  belonging  to  architectural  inves- 
tigations. I  may,  perhaps,  in  the  outset,  and  in  few  words, 
enable  the  general  reader  to  form  a  clearer  idea  of  the  impor- 
tance of  every  existing  expression  of  Venetian  character  through 
Venetian  art,  and  of  the  breadth  of  interest  which  the  true  his- 
tory of  Venice  embraces,  than  he  is  likely  to  have  gleaned  from 
the  current  fables  of  her  mystery  or  nlagnificence. 

§  in.  Venice  is  usually  conceived  as  an  oligarchy  :  She  was 
so  during  a  period  less  than  the  half  of  her  existence,  and  that 
including  the  days  of  her  decline  ;  and  it  is  one  of  the  first 
questions  needing  severe  examination,  whether  that  decline 
was  owing  in  any  wise  to  the  change  in  the  form  of  her  gov- 
ernment, or  altogether,  as  assuredly  in  great  part,  to  changes, 
in  the  character  of  the  persons  of  whom  it  was  composed. 

The  state  of  Venice  existed  Thirteen  Hundred  and  Seventy- 
six  years,  from  the  first  establishment  of  a  consular  govern- 
ment on  the  island  of  the  Rialto,*  to  the  moment  when  the 
General-in-chief  of  the  French  army  of  Italy  pronounced  the 
Venetian  republic  a  thing  of  the  past.  Of  this  period,  Two 
Hundred  and  Seventy-six  |  years  were  passed  in  a  nominal  sub- 
jection to  the  cities  of  old  Venetia,  especially  to  Padua,  and  in 
an  agitated  form  of  democracy,  of  which  the  executive  appears 
to  have  been  entrusted  to  tribunes,  J  chosen,  one  by  the  inW> 

*  Appendix  1,  "Foundation  of  Venice." 

f  Appendix  2,  "  Power  of  the  Doges." 

X  Sismondi,  Hist,  des  Rep.  Ital.,  vol.  i.  ch.  v. 


THE  QUARRY. 


17 


itants  of  each  of  the  principal  islands.  For  six  hundred  years,* 
during  which  the  power  of  Venice  was  continually  on  the  in- 
crease, her  government  was  an  elective  monarchy,  her  King  or 
doge  possessing,  in  early  times  at  least,  as  much  independent 
authority  as  any  other  European  sovereign,  but  an  authority 
gradually  subjected  to  limitation,  and  shortened  almost  daily 
of  its  prerogatives,  while  it  increased  in  a  spectral  and  inca- 
pable magnificence.  The  final  government  of  the  nobles,  un- 
der the  image  of  a  king,  lasted  for  five  hundred  years,  during 
which  Venice  reaped  the  fruits  of  her  former  energies,  con- 
sumed them, — and  expired. 

§  iv.  Let  the  reader  therefore  conceive  the  existence  of  the 
Venetian  state  as  broadly  divided  into  two  periods  :  the  first 
of  nine  hundred,  the  second  of  five  hundred  years,  the  separa- 
tion being  marked  by  what  was  called  the  "  Serrar  del  Con- 
siglio  ; "  that  is  to  say,  the  final  and  absolute  distinction  of 
the  nobles  from  the  commonalty,  and  the  establishment  of  the 
government  in  their  hands  to  the  exclusion  alike  of  the  in- 
fluence of  the  people  on  the  one  side,  and  the  authority  of  the 
doge  on  the  other. 

Then  the  first  period,  of  nine  hundred  years,  presents  us 
with  the  most  interesting  spectacle  of  a  people  struggling  out 
of  anarchy  into  order  and  power  ;  and  then  governed,  for  the 
most  part,  by  the  worthiest  and  noblest  man  whom  they  could 
find  among  them,f  called  their  Doge  or  Leader,  with  an  aris- 
tocracy gradually  and  resolutely  forming  itself  around  him, 
out  of  which,  and  at  last  by  which,  he  was  chosen  ;  an  aristoc- 
racy owing  its  origin  to  the  accidental  numbers,  influence, 
and  wealth  of  some  among  the  families  of  the  fugitives  from 
the  older  Venetia,  and  gradually  organizing  itself,  by  its  unity 
and  heroism,  into  a  separate  body. 

This  first  period  includes  the  rise  of  Venice,  ner  noblest 
achievements,  and  the  circumstances  which  determined  her 
character  and  position  among  European  powers  ;  and  within 

*  Appendix  3,  "  Serrar  del  Consiglio." 

f  <c  Ha  saputo  trovar  modo  clie  non  uno,  non  pochi,  non  molti,  signo- 
ivggiano,  ma  molti  buoni,  pochi  migliori,  e  insiememente,  un  ottim§ 
solo."    (Sansotino.)    Ah,  well  done,  Venice!    Wisdom  this,  indeed.  .  \ 
Vol.  I.— 3 


18 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


its  range,  as  might  have  been  anticipated,  we  find  the  names 
of  all  her  hero  princes, — of  Pietro  Urseolo,  Ordalafo  Falier, 
Domenico  Michieli,  Sebastiano  Ziani,  and  Enrico  Dandolo. 

§  v.  The  second  period  opens  with  a  hundred  and  twenty 
years,  the  most  eventful  in  the  career  of  Venice — the  central 
struggle  of  her  life — stained  with  her  darkest  crime,  the  mur- 
der of  Carrara — disturbed  by  her  most  dangerous  internal 
sedition,  the  conspiracy  of  Falier — oppressed  by  her  most 
fatal  war,  the  war  of  Chiozza — and  distinguished  by  the  glory 
of  her  two  noblest  citizens  (for  in  this  period  the  heroism  of 
her  citizens  replaces  that  of  her  monarchs),  Vittor  Pisani  and 
Carlo  Zeno. 

I  date  the  commencement  of  the  fall  of  Venice  from  the 
death  of  Carlo  Zeno,  8th  May,  1418  ;  *  the  visible  commence- 
ment from  that  of  another  of  her  noblest  and  wisest  children, 
the  Doge  Tomaso  Mocenigo,  who  expired  five  years  later. 
The  reign  of  Foscari  followed,  gloomy  with  pestilence  and 
war  ;  a  war  in  which  large  acquisitions  of  territory  were  made 
by  subtle  or  fortunate  policy  in  Lombardy,  and  disgrace, 
significant  as  irreparable,  sustained  in  the  battles  on  the  Po 
at  Cremona,  and  in  the  marshes  of  Caravaggio.  In  1454, 
Venice,  the  first  of  the  states  of  Christendom,  humiliated 
herself  to  the  Turk  :  in  the  same  year  was  established  the  In- 
quisition of  State,  f  and  from  this  period  her  government 
takes  the  perfidious  and  mysterious  form  under  which  it  is 
usually  conceived.  In  1477,  the  great  Turkish  invasion  spread 
terror  to  the  shores  of  the  lagoons  ;  and  in  1508  the  league 
of  Cambrai  marks  the  period  usually  assigned  as  the  com- 
mencement of  the  decline  of  the  Venetian  power  ;  J  the  com- 
mercial prosperity  of  Venice  in  the  close  of  the  fifteenth  cen- 
tury blinding  her  historians  to  the  previous  evidence  of  the 
diminution  of  her  internal  strength. 

*  Daru,  liv.  xii.  cli.  xii. 

f  Daru,  liv.  xvi.  cap.  xx.  We  owe  to  tliis  historian  the  discovery  of 
the  statutes  of  the  tribunal  and  date  of  its  establishment. 

\  Ominously  signified  by  their  humiliation  to  the  Papal  power  (as 
before  to  the  Turkish  !  in  1509,  and  their  abandonment  ol!  their  right  of 
appointing  the  clergy  of  their  territories. 


THE  QUARRY. 


19 


§  vi.  Now  there  is  apparently  a  significative  coincidence 
between  the  establishment  of  the  aristocratic  and  oligarchical 
powers,  and  the  diminution  of  the  prosperity  of  the  state. 
But  this  is  the  very  question  at  issue  ;  and  it  appears  to  me 
quite  undetermined  by  any  historian,  or  determined  by  each 
in  accordance  with  his  own  prejudices.  It  is  a  triple  ques- 
tion :  first,  whether  the  oligarchy  established  by  the  efforts 
of  individual  ambition  was  the  cause,  in  its  subsequent  oper- 
ation, of  the  Fall  of  Venice  ;  or  (secondly)  whether  the  es- 
tablishment of  the  oligarchy  itself  be  not  the  sign  and  evi- 
dence, rather  than  the  cause,  of  national  enervation  ;  or 
(lastly)  whether,  as  I  rather  think,  the  history  of  Venice  might 
not  be  written  almost  without  reference  to  the  construction 
of  her  senate  or  the  prerogatives  of  her  Doge.  It  is  the  his- 
tory of  a  people  eminently  at  unity  in  itself,  descendants  of 
Roman  race,  long  disciplined  by  adversity,  and  compelled  by 
its  position  either  i;o  live  nobly  or  to  perish  : — for  a  thousand 
years  they  fought  for  life  ;  for  three  hundred  they  invited 
death  :  their  battle  was  rewarded,  and  their  call  was  heard. 

§  vrr.  Throughout  her  career,  the  victories  of  Venice,  and, 
at  many  periods  of  it,  her  safety,  were  purchased  by  indi- 
vidual heroism  ;  and  the  man  who  exalted  or  saved  her  was 
sometimes  (oftenest)  her  king,  sometimes  a  noble,  sometimes 
a  citizen.  To  him  no  matter,  nor  to  her  :  the  real  question 
is,  not  so  much  what  names  they  bore,  or  with  what  powers 
they  were  entrusted,  as  how  they  were  trained  ;  how  they 
were  made  masters  of  themselves,  servants  of  their  country, 
patient  of  distress,  impatient  of  dishonor ;  and  what  was  the 
true  reason  of  the  change  from  the  time  when  she  could  find 
saviours  among  those  whom  she  had  cast  into  prison,  to  that 
when  the  voices  of  her  own  children  commanded  her  to  sign 
covenant  with  Death. * 

§  viii.  On  this  collateral  question  I  wish  the  reader's  mind 
to  be  fixed  throughout  all  our  subsequent  inquiries.  It  will 
give  double  interest  to  every  detail :  nor  will  the  interest  be 
profitless  ;  for  the  evidence  which  I  shall  be  able  to  deduce 

*  The  senate  voted  the  abdication  of  their  authority  by  a  majority  of 
512  to  14.    (Alison,  ch.  xxiii.)  , 


20 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


from  the  arts  of  Venice  will  be  both  frequent  and  irrefrag* 
able,  that  the  decline  of  her  political  prosperity  was  exactly 
coincident  with  that  of  domestic  and  individual  religion. 

I  say  domestic  and  individual  ;  for — and  this  is  the  second 
point  which  I  wish  the  reader  to  keep  in  mind — the  most 
curious  phenomenon  in  all  Venetian  history  is  the  vitality  of 
religion  in  private  life,  and  its  deadness  in  public  policy. 
Amidst  the  enthusiasm,  chivalry,  or  fanaticism  of  the  other 
states  of  Europe,  Venice  stands,  from  first  to  last,  like  a 
masked  statue  ;  her  coldness  impenetrable,  her  exertion  only 
aroused  by  the  touch  of  a  secret  spring.  That  spring  was 
her  commercial  interest, — this  the  one  motive  of  all  her  im- 
portant political  acts,  or  enduring  national  animosities.  She 
could  forgive  insults  to  her  honor,  but  never  rivalship  in  her 
commerce  ;  she  calculated  the  glory  of  her  conquests  by  their 
value,  and  estimated  their  justice  by  their  facility.  The  fame 
of  success  remains,  when  the  motives  of  attempt  are  forgot- 
ten ;  and  the  casual  reader  of  her  history  may  perhaps  be  sur- 
prised to  be  reminded,  that  the  expedition  which  was  com- 
manded by  the  noblest  of  her  princes,  and  whose  results  added 
most  to  her  military  glory,  was  one  in  which  while  all  Europe 
around  her  was  wasted  by  the  fire  of  its  devotion,  she  first 
calculated  the  highest  price  she  could  exact  from  its  piety  for 
the  armament  she  furnished,  and  then,  for  the  advancement 
of  her  own  private  interests,  at  once  broke  her  faith  *  and  be- 
trayed her  religion. 

§  ix.  And  yet,  in  the  midst  of  this  national  criminality,  we 
shall  be  struck  again  and  again  by  the  evidences  of  the  most 
noble  individual  feeling.  The  tears  of  Dandolo  were  not  shed 
in  hypocrisy,  though  they  could  not  blind  him  to  the  impor- 
tance of  the  conquest  of  Zara.  The  habit  of  assigning  to  re* 
ligion  a  direct  influence  over  all  his  own  actions,  and  all  the 
affairs  of  his  own  daily  life,  is  remarkable  in  every  great  Vene- 
tian during  the  times  of  the  prosperity  of  the  state  ;  nor  are 
instances  wanting  in  which  the  private  feeling  of  the  citizens 

*  By  directing  the  arms  of  the  Crusaders  against  a  Christian  prince. 
(Daru,  liv.  iv.  ch.  iv.  viii.)  , 


THE  QUARRY. 


21 


reaches  the  sphere  of  their  policy,  and  even  becomes  the  guide 
of  its  course  where  the  scales  of  expediency  are  doubtfully 
balanced.  I  sincerely  trust  that  the  inquirer  would  be  disap- 
pointed who  should  endeavor  to  trace  any  more  immediate 
ieasons  for  their  adoption  of  the  cause  of  Alexander  HE. 
against  Barbarossa,  than  the  piety  which  was  excited  by  the 
character  of  their  suppliant,  and  the  noble  pride  which  was 
provoked  by  the  insolence  of  the  emperor.  But  the  heart  of 
Venice  is  shown  only  in  her  hastiest  councils  ;  her  worldly 
spirit  recovers  the  ascendency  whenever  she  has  time  to  cal- 
culate the  probabilities  of  advantage,  or  when  they  are  suffi- 
ciently distinct  to  need  no  calculation  ;  and  the  entire  subjec- 
tion of  private  piety  to  national  policy  is  not  only  remarkable 
throughout  the  almost  endless  series  of  treacheries  and  tyran- 
nies by  which  her  empire  was  enlarged  and  maintained,  but 
symbolised  by  a  very  singular  circumstance  in  the  building  of 
the  city  itself.  I  am  aware  of  no  other  city  of  Europe  in 
which  its  cathedral  was  not  the  principal  feature.  But  the 
principal  church  in  Venice  was  the  chapel  attached  to  the 
palace  of  her  prince,  and  called  the  "  Chiesa  Ducale."  The 
patriarchal  church,*  inconsiderable  in  size  and  mean  in  deco- 
ration, stands  on  the  outermost  islet  of  the  Venetian  group, 
and  its  name,  as  well  as  its  site,  is  probably  unknown  to  the 
greater  number  of  travellers  passing  hastily  through  the  city. 
Nor  is  it  less  worthy  of  remark,  that  the  two  most  important 
temples  of  Venice,  next  to  the  ducal  chapel,  owe  their  size  and 
magnificence,  not  to  national  effort,  but  to  the  energy  of  the 
Franciscan  and  Dominican  monks,  supported  by  the  vast  or- 
ganization of  those  great  societies  on  the  mainland  of  Italy, 
and  countenanced  by  the  most  pious,  and  perhaps  also,  in  hig 
generation,  the  most  wise,  of  all  the  princes  of  Venice, f  wTho 
now  rests  beneath  the  roof  of  one  of  those  very  temples,  and 
whose  life  is  not  satirized  by  the  images  of  the  Virtues  which 
r  Tuscan  sculptor  has  placed  around  his  tomb. 

§  x.    There  are,  therefore,  two  strange  and  solemn  lights] 

*  Appendix  4,  "  San  Pietro  di  Castelio." 
\  Tomasc  Mocenigo,  above  named,  §  v. 


THE  STOXES  OF  YEXICE. 


in  which  we  have  to  regard  almost  every  scene  in  the  fitful 
history  of  the  Rivo  Alto.  We  find,  on  the  one  hand,  a  deep 
and  constant  tone  of  individual  religion  characterising  the 
lives  of  the  citizens  of  Venice  in  her  greatness  ;  we  find  this 
spirit  influencing  them  in  all  the  familiar  and  immediate  con- 
cerns of  life,  giving  a  peculiar  dignity  to  the  conduct  even  of 
their  commercial  transactions,  and  confessed  by  them  with  a 
simplicity  of  faith  that  may  well  put  to  shame  the  hesitation 
with  which  a  man  of  the  world  at  present  admits  (even  if  it 
be  so  in  reality)  that  religious  feeling  has  any  influence  over 
the  minor  branches  of  his  conduct.  And  we  find  as  the  natu- 
ral consequence  of  all  this,  a  healthy  serenity  of  mind  and 
energy  of  will  expressed  in  all  their  actions,  and  a  habit  of 
heroism  which  never  fails  them,  even  when  the  immediate 
motive  of  action  ceases  to  be  praiseworthy.  With  the  fulness 
of  this  spirit  the  prosperity  of  the  state  is  exactly  correspond- 
ent, and  with  its  failure  her  decline,  and  that  with  a  closeness 
and  precision  which  it  will  be  one  of  the  collateral  objects  of 
the  following  essay  to  demonstrate  from  such  accidental  evi- 
dence as  the  field  of  its  inquiry  presents.  And,  thus  far,  all 
is  natural  and  simple.  But  the  stopping  short  of  this  religious 
faith  when  it  appears  likely  to  influence  national  action,  corre- 
spondent as  it  is,  and  that  most  strikingly,  with  several  char- 
acteristics of  the  temper  of  our  present  English  legislature,  is 
a  subject,  morally  and  politically,  of  the  most  curious  interest 
and  complicated  difficulty  ;  one,  however,  which  the  range  of 
my  present  inquiry  will  not  permit  me  to  approach,  and  for 
the  treatment  of  which  I  must  be  content  to  furnish  materials 
in  the  light  I  may  be  able  to  throw  upon  the  private  tenden- 
cies of  the  Venetian  character. 

§  xr.  There  is,  however,  another  most  interesting  feature  in 
the  policy  of  Venice  which  will  be  often  brought  before  us  ; 
and  which  a  Romanist  would  gladly  assign  as  the  reason  of 
its  irreligion  ;  namely,  the  magnificent  and  successful  struggle 
which  she  maintained  against  the  temporal  authority  of  the 
Church  of  Rome.  It  is  true  that,  in  a  rapid  survey  of  her 
career,  the  eye  is  at  first  arrested  by  the  strange  drama  to 
which  I  have  already  alluded,  closed  by  that  ever  memorable 


THE  QUARRY. 


23 


scene  in  the  portico  of  St  Mark's,*  the  central  expression  in 
most  men's  thoughts  of  the  unendurable  elevation  of  the  pon- 
tifical power  ;  it  is  true  that  the  proudest  thoughts  of  Venice, 
as  we]l  as  the  insignia  of  her  prince,  and  the  form  of  her  chief 
festival,  recorded  the  service  thus  rendered  to  the  Koman 
Church.  But  the  enduring  sentiment  of  years  more  than  bal- 
anced the  enthusiasm  of  a  moment ;  and  the  bull  of  Clement 
V.,  which  excommunicated  the  Venetians  and  their  doge, 
likening  them  to  Dathan,  Abiram,  Absalom,  and  Lucifer,  is  a 
stronger  evidence  of  the  great  tendencies  of  the  Venetian  gov- 
ernment than  the  umbrella  of  the  doge  or  the  ring  of  the 
Adriatic.  The  humiliation  of  Francesco  Dandolo  blotted  out 
the  shame  of  Barbarossa,  and  the  total  exclusion  of  ecclesias- 
tics from  all  share  in  the  councils  of  Venice  became  an  endur- 
ing mark  of  her  knowledge  of  the  spirit  of  the  Church  of  Rome, 
and  of  her  defiance  of  it. 

To  this  exclusion  of  Papal  influence  from  her  councils,  the 
Romanist  will  attribute  their  irreligion,  and  the  Protestant 
their  success. f  The  first  may  be  silenced  by  a  reference  to 
the  character  of  the  policy  of  the  Vatican  itself  ;  and  the  second 
by  his  own  shame,  when  he  reflects  that  the  English  legislature 
sacrificed  their  principles  to  expose  themselves  to  the  very 
danger  which  the  Venetian  senate  sacrificed  theirs  to  avoid. 

§  xir.  One  more  circumstance  remains  to  be  noted  respect- 
ing the  Venetian  government,  the  singular  unity  of  the  fami- 
lies composing  it, — unity  far  from  sincere  or  perfect,  but  still 

*  4 1  In  that  temple  porch, 
(The  brass  is  gone,  the  porphyry  remains,) 
Did  Barbarossa  fling  his  mantle  off, 
And  kneeling,  on  his  neck  receive  the  foot 
Of  the  proud  Pontiff — thus  at  last  consoled 
For  flight,  disguise,  and  many  an  aguish  shake  * 
On  his  stone  pillow." 
I  need  hardly  say  whence  the  lines  are  taken:  Rogers'  "Italy"  has,  I 
believe,  now  a  place  in  the  best  beloved  compartment  of  all  libraries, 
and  will  never  be  removed  from  it.    There  is  more  true  expression  of 
the  spirit  of  Venice  in  the  passages  devoted  to  her  in  that  poem,  than  h> 
all  else  that  has  been  written  of  her. 

t  At  least,  such  success  as  they  had.  Vide  Appendix  5,  "The  Papal 
Power  in  Venice. " 


24 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


admirable  when  contrasted  with  the  fiery  feuds,  the  almost 
daily  revolutions,  the  restless  successions  of  families  and 
parties  in  power,  which  fill  the  annals  of  the  other  states  of 
Italy.  That  rivalship  should  sometimes  be  ended  by  the  dag- 
ger, or  enmity  conducted  to  its  ends  under  the  mask  of  law, 
could  not  but  be  anticipated  where  the  fierce  Italian  spirit 
was  subjected  to  so  severe  a  restraint :  it  is  much  that  jealousy 
appears  usually  unmingled  with  illegitimate  ambition,  and 
that,  for  every  instance  in  which  private  passion  sought  its 
gratification  through  public  danger,  there  are  a  thousand  in 
which  it  was  sacrificed  to  the  public  advantage.  Venice  may 
wTell  call  upon  us  to  note  with  reverence,  that  of  all  the  towers 
which  are  still  seen  rising  like  a  branchless  forest  from  her 
islands,  there  is  but  one  whose  office  was  other  than  that  of 
summoning  to  prayer,  and  that  one  was  a  watch-tower  only : 
from  first  to  last,  while  the  palaces  of  the  other  cities  of  Italy 
were  lifted  into  sullen  fortitudes  of  rampart,  and  fringed  with 
forked  battlements  for  the  javelin  and  the  bow,  the  sands  of 
Venice  never  sank  under  the  weight  of  a  war  tower,  and  her 
roof  terraces  were  wreathed  with  Arabian  imagery,  of  golden 
globes  suspended  on  the  leaves  of  lilies.* 

§  xiii.  These,  then,  appear  to  me  to  be  the  points  of  chief 
general  interest  in  the  character  and  fate  of  the  Venetian  peo- 
ple. I  would  next  endeavor  to  give  the  reader  some  idea  of 
the  manner  in  which  the  testimony  of  Art  bears  upon  these 
questions,  and  of  the  aspect  which  the  arts  themselves  assume 
when  they  are  regarded  in  their  true  connexion  with  the  his- 
tory of  the  state. 

1st.  Keceive  the  witness  of  Painting. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  I  put  the  commencement  of  the 
Fall  of  Venice  as  far  back  as  1418. 

Now,  John  Bellini  was  born  in  1423,  and  Titian  in  1480. 
John  Bellini,  and  his  brother  Gentile,  two  years  older  than  he, 
close  the  line  of  the  sacred  painters  of  Venice.  But  the  most 
solemn  spirit  of  religious  faith  animates  their  works  to  the 

*  The  inconsiderable  fortifications  of  the  arsenal  are  no  exception  to 
this  statement,  as  far  as  it  regards  the  city  itself.  They  are  little  more 
than  a  semblance  of  precaution  against  the  attack  of  a  foreign  enemy. 


THE  QUARRY.  25 

last.  I  There  is  no  religion  in  any  work  of  Titian's  :  there  is 
not  even  the  smallest  evidence  of  religious  temper  or  sympa- 
thies either  in  himself,  or  in  those  for  whom  he  painted.  His 
larger  sacred  subjects  are  merely  themes  for  the  exhibition  of 
pictorial  rhetoric, — composition  and  color.  His  minor  works 
are  generally  made  subordinate  to  purposes  of  portraiture. 
The  Madonna  in  the  church  of  the  Frari  is  a  mere  lay  figure, 
Introduced  to  form  a  link  of  connexion  between  the  portraits 
of  various  members  of  the  Pesaro  family  who  surround 
her. 

Now  this  is  not  merely  because  John  Bellini  was  a  religious 
man  and  Titian  was  not.  Titian  and  Bellini  are  each  true 
representatives  of  the  school  of  painters  contemporary  with 
them ;  and  the  difference  in  their  artistic  feeling  is  a  conse- 
quence not  so  much  of  difference  in  their  own  natural  charac- 
ters as  in  their  early  education  :  Bellini  was  brought  up  in 
faith ;  Titian  in  formalism.  Between  the  years  of  their  births 
the  vital  religion  of  Venice  had  expired. 

§  xiv.  The  vital  religion,  observe,  not  the  formal.  Outward 
observance  was  as  strict  as  ever  ;  and  doge  and  senator  still 
were  painted,  in  almost  every  important  instance,  kneeling 
before  the  Madonna  or  St.  Mark ;  a  confession  of  faith  made 
universal  by  the  pure  gold  of  the  Venetian  sequin.  But  ob- 
serve the  great  picture  of  Titian's  in  the  ducal  palace,  of  the 
Doge  Antonio  Grimani  kneeling  before  Faith  :  there  is  a 
curious  lesson  in  it.  The  figure  of  Faith  is  a  coarse  portrait 
of  one  of  Titian's  least  graceful  female  models :  Faith  had 
become  carnal.  The  eye  is  first  caught  by  the  flash  of  the 
Doge's  armor.  The  heart  of  Venice  was  in  her  wars,  not  in 
her  worship. 

The  mind  of  Tintoret,  incomparably  more  deep  and  serious 
than  that  of  Titian,  casts  the  solemnity  of  its  own  tone  over 
the  sacred  subjects  which  it  approaches,  and  sometimes  for- 
gets itself  into  devotion  ;  but  the  principle  of  treatment  is  al- 
together the  same  as  Titian's :  absolute  subordination  of  the 
religious  subject  to  purposes  of  decoration  or  portraiture. 

The  evidence  might  be  accumulated  a  thousandfold  from 
the  works  of  Veronese,  and  of  every  succeeding  painter, — that 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


the  fifteenth  century  had  taken  away  the  religious  heart  of 
Venice. 

S  xv.  Such  is  the  evidence  of  Painting.  To  collect  that  of 
Architecture  will  be  our  task  through  many  a  page  to  come  ; 
but  I  must  here  give  a  general  idea  of  its  heads. 

Philippe  de  Commynes,  writing  of  his  entry  into  Venice  in 
1495,  says, — 

"  Chascun  me  feit  seoir  au  meillieu  de  ces  deux  ambassa- 
deurs  qui  est  l'honneur  d'ltalie  que  d'estre  au  meillieu;  et  me 
menerent  au  long  de  la  grant  rue,  qu'ilz  appellent  le  Canal 
Grant,  et  est  bien  large.  Les  gallees  y  passent  a  travers  et  y 
ay  veu  navire  de  quatre  cens  tonneaux  ou  plus  pres  des 
maisons  :  et  est  la  plus  belle  rue  que  je  croy  qui  soit  en  tout 
le  monde,  et  la  mieulx  maisonnee,  et  va  le  long  de  la  ville. 
Les  maisons  sont  fort  grandes  et  haultes,  et  de  bonne  pierre, 
et  les  anciennes  toutes  painctes  ;  les  aultres  faictes  depuis 
cent  ans  :  toutes  ont  le  devant  de  marbre  blanc,  qui  leur 
vient  d'Istrie,  a  cent  mils  de  la,  et  encores  maincte  grant 
piece  de  porphire  et  de  sarpentine  sur  le  devant.  .  .  . 
C'est  la  plus  triurnphante  cite  que  j'aye  jamais  veue  et  qui 
plus  faict  d'honneur  a  ambassadeurs  et  estrangiers,  et  qui 
plus  saigement  se  gouverne,  et  oti  le  service  de  Dieu  est  le 
plus  sollempnellement  faict :  et  encores  qu'il  y  peust  bien 
avoir  d  aultres  faultes,  si  je  croy  que  Dieu  les  a  en  ayde  pour 
la  reverence  qu'ilz  portent  au  service  de  l'Eglise."  * 

§  xvi.  This  passage  is  of  peculiar  interest,  for  two  reasons, 
Observe,  first,  the  impression  of  Commynes  respecting  the 
religion  of  Venice  :  of  which,  as  I  have  above  said,  the  forms 
still  remained  with  some  glimmering  of  life  in  them,  and  were 
the  evidence  of  what  the  real  life  had  been  in  former  times. 
But  observe,  secondly,  the  impression  instantly  made  on 
Commynes'  mind  by  the  distinction  between  the  elder  palaces 
and  those  built  " within  this  last  hundred  years;  which  all 
have  their  fronts  of  white  marble  brought  from  Istria,  a  hun- 
dred miles  away,  and  besides,  many  a  large  piece  of  porphyry 
and  serpentine  upon  their  fronts." 

On  the  opposite  page  I  have  given  two  of  the  ornaments  of 
*  Memoires  de  Commynes,  liv.  vii.  ch.  xviii. 


Wall  -Yeil  -  Dmmifhm. 

<  -A'TliKVlSAX  < \  DARK). 


THE  QUARRY. 


27 


the  palaces  which  so  struck  the  French  ambassador.*  He 
was  right  in  his  notice  of  the  distinction.  There  had  indeed 
come  a  change  over  Venetian  architecture  in  the  fifteenth  cen- 
tury ;  and  a  change  of  some  importance  to  us  moderns :  we 
English  owe  to  it  our  St.  Paul's  Cathedral,  and  Europe  in 
general  owes  to  it  the  utter  degradation  or  destruction  of  her 
schools  of  architecture,  never  since  revived.  But  that  the 
reader  may  understand  this,  it  is  necessary  that  he  should 
have  some  general  idea  of  the  connexion  of  the  architecture 
of  Venice  with  that  of  the  rest  of  Europe,  from  its  origin 
.forwards.  ' 

§  xvn.  All  European  architecture,  bad  and  good,  old  and 
new,  is  derived  from  Greece  through  Rome,  and  colored  and 
perfected  from  the  East.  )  The  history  of  architecture  is 
nothing  but  the  tracing  of  the  various  modes  and  directions 
of  this  derivation.  Understand  this,  once  for  all :  if  you  hold 
fast  this  great  connecting  clue,  you  may  string  all  the  types 
of  successive  architectural  invention  upon  it  like  so  many 
beads.  The  Doric  and  the  Corinthian  orders  are  the  roots, 
the  one  of  all  Romanesque,  massy-capitaled  buildings — Nor- 
man, Lombard,  Byzantine,  and  what  else  you  can  name  of 
the  kind  ;  and  the  Corinthian  of  all  Gothic,  Early  English, 
French,  German,  and  Tuscan.  Now  observe :  those  old 
Greeks  gave  the  shaft  ;  Rome  gave  the  arch ;  the  Arabs 
pointed  and  foliated  the  arch.  The  shaft  and  arch,  the 
frame-work  and  strength  of  architecture,  are  from  the  race 
of  Japheth  ;  the  spirituality  and  sanctity  of  it  from  Ismael, 
Abraham,  and  Shem. 

§  xviii.  There  is  high  probability  that  the  Greek  received 
his  shaft  system  from  Egypt ;  but  I  do  not  care  to  keep  this 
earlier  derivation  in  the  mind  of  the  reader.  It  is  only  neces- 
sary that  he  should  be  able  to  refer  to  a  fixed  point  of  origin, 
when  the  form  of  the  shaft  was  first  perfected.  But  it  may 
be  incidentally  observed,  that  if  the  Greeks  did  indeed  receive 
their  Doric  from  Egypt,  then  the  three  families  of  the  earth 
have  each  contributed  their  part  to  its  noblest  architecture: 
and  Ham,  the  servant  of  the  others,  furnishes  the  sustaining 
*  Appendix  6,  "Renaissance  Ornaments. " 


28 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


or  bearing  member,  the  shaft ;  Japheth  the  arch ;  Shem  the 
spiritualisation  of  both. 

§  xix.  I  have  said  that  the  two  orders,  Doric  and  Corinthian, 
are  the  roots  of  all  European  architecture.  You  have,  per- 
haps, heard  of  five  orders  ;  but  there  are  only  two  real  orders, 
and  there  never  can  be  any  more  until  doomsday.  On  one 
of  these  orders  the  ornament  is  convex  :  those  are  Doric, 
Norman,  and  what  else  you  recollect  of  the  kind.  On  the 
other  the  ornament  is  concave  :  those  are  Corinthian,  Early 
English,  Decorated,  and  what  else  you  recollect  of  that  kind. 
The  transitional  form,  in  which  the  ornamental  line  is  straight, 
is  the  centre  or  root  of  both.  All  other  orders  are  varieties 
of  those,  or  phantasms  and  grotesques  altogether  indefinite  in 
number  and  species.* 

§  xx.  This  Greek  architecture,  then,  with  its  two  orders, 
was  clumsily  copied  and  varied  by  the  Komans  with  no  par- 
ticular result,  until  they  begun  to  bring  the  arch  into  exten- 
sive practical  service  ;  except  only  that  the  Doric  capital  was 
spoiled  in  endeavors  to  mend  it,  tod  the  Corinthian  much 
varied  and  enriched  with  fanciful,  and  often  very  beautiful 
imagery.  And  in  this  state  of  things  came  Christianity  : 
seized  upon  the  arch  as  her  own  ;  decorated  it,  and  delighted 
in  it ;  invented  a  new  Doric  capital  to  replace  the  spoiled 
Roman  one  :  and  all  over  the  Roman  empire  set  to  work, 
with  such  materials  as  were  nearest  at  hand,  to  express  and 
adorn  herself  as  best  she  could.  This  Roman  Christian  archi- 
tecture is  the  exact  expression  of  the  Christianity  of  the  time, 
very  fervid  and  beautiful — but  very  imperfect ;  in  many  re- 
spects ignorant,  and  yet  radiant  with  a  strong,  childlike  light 
of  imagination,  which  flames  up  under  Constantine,  illumines 
all  the  shores  of  the  Bosphorus  and  the  iEgean  and  the 
Adriatic  Sea,  and  then  gradually,  as  the  people  give  them- 
selves up  to  idolatry,  becomes  Corpse-light.  The  architect- 
ure sinks  into  a  settled  form — a  strange,  gilded,  and  em- 
balmed repose  :  it,  with  the  religion  it  expressed ;  and  so 
would  have  remained  for  ever, — so  does  remain,  where  its 

*  Appendix  7,  "  Varieties  of  the  Orders." 


THE  QUARRY. 


29 


languor  has  been  undisturbed.*  But  rough  wakening  was 
ordained  for  it. 

§  xxi.  This  Christian  art  of  the  declining  empire  is  divided 
into  two  great  branches,  western  and  eastern  ;  one  centred  at 
Rome,  the  other  at  Byzantium,  of  which  the  one  is  the  early 
Christian  Romanesque,  properly  so  called,  and  the  other,  car- 
ried to  higher  imaginative  perfection  by  Greek  workmen,  is 
distinguished  from  it  as  Byzantine.  But  I  wish  the  reader, 
for  the  present,  to  class  these  two  branches  of  art  together  in 
his  mind,  they  being,  in  points  of  main  importance,  the  same  ; 
that  is  to  say,  both  of  them  a  true  continuance  and  sequence 
of  the  art  of  old  Rome  itself,  flowing  uninterruptedly  down 
from  the  fountain-head,  and  entrusted  always  to  the  best 
workmen  wTho  could  be  found — Latins  in  Italy  and  Greeks  in 
Greece  ;  and  thus  both  branches  may  be  ranged  under  the 
general  term  of  Christian  Romanesque,  an  architecture  which 
had  lost  the  refinement  of  Pagan  art  in  the  degradation  of  the 
empire,  but  which  was  elevated  by  Christianity  to  higher 
aims,  and  by  the  fancy  of  the  Greek  workmen  endowed  with 
brighter  forms.  And  this  art  the  reader  may  conceive  as  ex- 
tending in  its  various  branches  over  all  the  central  provinces 
of  the  empire,  taking  aspects  more  or  less  refined,  according 
to  its  proximity  to  the  seats  of  government ;  dependent  for 
all  its  power  on  the  vigor  and  freshness  of  the  religion  which 
animated  if  ;  and  as  that  vigor  and  purity  departed,  losing  its 
own  vitality,  and  sinking  into  nerveless  rest,  not  deprived  of 
its  beauty,  but  benumbed  and  incapable  of  advance  or  change. 

§  xxn.  Meantime  there  had  been  preparation  for  its  re- 
newal. "While  in  Rome  and  Constantinople,  and  in  the  dis- 
tricts under  their  immediate  influence,  this  Roman  art  of 
pure  descent  was  practised  in  all  its  refinement,  an  impure 
form  of  it — a  patois  of  Romanesque — was  carried  by  inferior 
workmen  into  distant  provinces  ;  and  still  ruder  imitations  of 
this  patois  were  executed  by  the  barbarous  nations  on  the 

*  The  reader  will  find  the  weak  points  of  Byzantine  architecture 
shrewdly  seized,  and  exquisitely  sketched,  in  the  opening  chapter  of 
the  most  delightful  book  of  travels  I  ever  opened, — Curzon's  "Monas* 
teries  of  the  Levant." 


30 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


skirts  of  the  empire.  But  these  barbarous  nations  were  in 
the  strength  of  their  youth ;  and  while,  in  the  centre  of 
Europe,  a  refined  and  purely  descended  art  was  sinking  into 
graceful  formalism,  on  its  confines  a  barbarous  and  borrowed 
art  was  organising  itself  into  strength  and  consistency.  The 
reader  must  therefore  consider  the  history  of  the  work  of  the 
period  as  broadly  divided  into  two  great  heads  :  the  one  em- 
bracing the  elaborately  languid  succession  of  the  Christian 
art  of  Rome  ;  and  the  other,  the  imitations  of  it  executed  by 
nations  in  every  conceivable  phase  of  early  organisation,  on 
the  edges  of  the  empire,  or  included  in  its  now  merely 
nominal  extent. 

§  xxiii.  Some  of  the  barbaric  nations  were,  of  course,  not 
susceptible  of  this  influence ;  and  when  they  burst  over  the 
Alps,  appear,  like  the  Huns,  as  scourges  only,  or  mix,  as  the 
Ostrogoths,  with  the  enervated  Italians,  and  give  physical 
strength  to  the  mass  with  which  they  mingle,  without  mate- 
rially affecting  its  intellectual  character.  But  others,  both 
south  and  north  of  the  empire,  had  "felt  its  influence,  back  to 
the  beach  of  the  Indian  Ocean  on  the  one  hand,  and  to  the 
ice  creeks  of  the  North  Sea  on  the  other.  On  the  north  and 
west  the  influence  was  of  the  Latins  ;  on  the  south  and  east, 
of  the  Greeks.  Two  nations,  pre-eminent  above  all  the  rest, 
represent  to  us  the  force  of  derived  mind  on  either  side.  As 
the  central  power  is  eclipsed,  the  orbs  of  reflected  light 
gather  into  their  fulness  ;  and  when  sensuality  and  idolatry 
had  done  their  work,  and  the  religion  of  the  empire  was  laid 
asleep  in  a  glittering  sepulchre,  the  living  light  rose  upon 
both  horizons,  and  the  fierce  swords  of  the  Lombard  and 
Arab  were  shaken  over  its  golden  paralysis. 

§  xxiv.  The  work  of  the  Lombard  was  to  give  hardihood 
and  system  to  the  enervated  body  and  enfeebled  mind  of  Chris- 
tendom ;  that  of  the  Arab  was  to  punish  idolatry,  and  to 
proclaim  the  spirituality  of  worship.  The  Lombard  covered 
every  church  which  he  built  with  the  sculptured  representa- 
tions of  bodily  exercises— hunting  and  war.*  The  Arab  ban- 
ished all  imagination  of  creature  form  from  his  temples,  and 
*  Appendix  8,  "  The  Northern  Energy." 


THE  QUARRY. 


31 


proclaimed  from  their  minarets,  "There  is  no  god  but  God." 
Opposite  in  their  character  and  mission,  alike  in  their  mag- 
nificence of  energy,  they  came  from  the  North  and  from  the 
South,  the  glacier  torrent  and  the  lava  stream  :  they  met  and 
contended  over  the  wreck  of  the  Roman  empire  ;  and  the  very 
centre  of  the  struggle,  the  point  of  pause  of  both,  the  dead 
water  of  the  opposite  eddies,  charged  with  embayed  fragments 
of  the  Roman  wreck,  is  Venice. 

The  Ducal  palace  of  Venice  contains  the  three  elements  in 
exactly  equal  proportions — the  Roman,  Lombard,  and  Arab. 
It  is  the  central  building  of  the  world. 

§  xxv.  The  reader  will  now  begin  to  understand  something 
of  the  importance  of  the  study  of  the  edifices  of  a  city  which 
includes,  within  the  circurt  of  some  seven  or  eight  miles,  the 
field  of  contest  between  the  three  pre-eminent  architectures  of 
the  world  :— each  architecture  expressing  a  condition  of  re- 
ligion ;  each  an  erroneous  condition,  yet  necessary  to  the  cor- 
rection of  the  others,  and  corrected  by  them. 

§  xxvi.  It  will  be  part  of  my  endeavor,  in  the  following  work, 
to  mark  the  various  modes  in  which  the  northern  and  southern 
architectures  were  developed  from  the  Roman  :  here  I  must 
pause  only  to  name  the  distinguishing  characteristics  of  the 
great  families.  The  Christian  Roman  and  Byzantine  work  is 
round-arched,  with  single  and  well-proportioned  shafts  ;  capi- 
tals imitated  from  classical  Roman  ;  mouldings  more  or  less 
so  ;  and  large  surfaces  of  walls  entirely  covered  with  imagery, 
mosaic,  and  paintings,  whether  of  scripture  history  or  of 
sacred  symbols. 

The  Arab  school  is  at  first  the  same  in  its  principal  features, 
the  Byzantine  workmen  being  employed  by  the  caliphs  ;  but 
the  Arab  rapidly  introduces  characters  half  Persepolitan,  half 
Egyptian,  into  the  shafts  and  capitals  :  in  his  intense  love  of 
excitement  he  points  the  arch  and  writhes  it  into  extravagant 
foliations  ;  he  banishes  the  animal  imagery,  and  invents  an 
ornamentation  of  his  own  (called  Arabesque)  to  replace  it : 
this  not  being  adapted  for  covering  large  surfaces,  he  concen- 
trates it  on  features  of  interest,  and  bars  his  surfaces  with 
horizontal  lines  of  color,  the  expression  of  the  level  of  the 


32 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


Desert.    He  retains  the  dome,  and  adds  the  minaret.    All  is 

done  with  exquisite  refinement. 

§  xxvii.  The  changes  effected  by  the  Lombard  are  more 
curious  still,  for  they  are  in  the  anatomy  of  the  building,  more 
than  its  decoration.  The  Lombard  architecture  represents, 
as  I  said,  the  whole  of  that  of  the  northern  barbaric  nations. 
And  this  I  believe  wras,  at  first,  an  imitation  in  wood  of  the  Chris- 
tian Eoman  churches  or  basilicas.  Without  staying  to  examine 
the  whole  structure  of  a  basilica,  the  reader  will  easily  under- 
stand thus  much  of  it :  that  it  had  a  nave  and  two  aisles,  the 
nave  much  higher  than  the  aisles  ;  that  the  nave  was  separated 
from  the  aisles  by  rows  of  shafts,  which  supported,  above, 
large  spaces  of  flat  or  dead  wall,  rising  above  the  aisles,  and 
forming  the  upper  part  of  the  nave,  now  called  the  clerestory, 
which  had  a  gabled  wooden  roof. 

These  high  dead  walls  were,  in  Koman  wrork,  built  of  stone  ; 
but  in  the  wooden  work  of  the  North,  they  must  necessarily 
have  been  made  of  horizontal  boards  or  timbers  attached  to 
uprights  on  the  top  of  the  nave  pillars,  which  were  themselves 
also  of  wood.*  Now,  these  uprights  were  necessarily  thicker 
than  the  rest  of  the  timbers,  and  formed  vertical  square  pilas- 
ters above  the  nave  piers.  As  Christianity  extended  and  civi- 
lisation increased,  these  wooden  structures  were  changed  into 
stone ;  but  they  were  literally  petrified,  retaining  the  form 
which  had  been  made  necessary  by  their  being  of  wood.  The 
upright  pilaster  above  the  nave  pier  remains  in  the  stone  edi- 
fice, and  is  the  first  form  of  the  great  distinctive  feature  of 
Northern  architecture — the  vaulting  shaft.  In  that  form  the 
Lombards  brought  it  into  Italy,  in  the  seventh  century,  and 
it  remains  to  this  day  in  St.  Ambrogio  of  Milan,  and  St.  Mi- 
chele  of  Pavia. 

§  xxviii.  When  the  vaulting  shaft  was  introduced  in  the 
clerestory  walls,  additional  members  were  added  for  its  sup- 
port to  the  nave  piers.  Perhaps  two  or  three  pine  trunks, 
used  for  a  single  pillar,  gave  the  first  idea  of  the  grouped 
shaft.  Be  that  as  it  may,  the  arrangement  of  the  nave  pie* 
in  the  form  of  a  cross  accompanies  the  superimposition  of 
*  Appendix  9,  44  Wooden  Churches  of  the  North.' ' 


THE  QUABBY. 


33 


the  vaulting  shaft ;  together  with  corresponding  grouping  of 
minor  shafts  in  doorways  and  apertures  of  windows.  Thus, 
the  whole  body  of  the  Northern  architecture,  represented  by 
that  of  the  Lombards,  may  be  described  as  rough  but  ma* 
jestic  work,  round-arched,  with  grouped  shafts,  added  vault- 
ing shafts,  and  endless  imagery  of  active  life  and  fantastic 
superstitions. 

§  xxix.  The  glacier  stream  of  the  Lombards,  and  the  fol- 
lowing one  of  the  Normans,  left  their  erratic  blocks,  wher- 
ever they  had  flowed  ;  but  without  influencing,  I  think,  the 
Southern  nations  beyond  the  sphere  of  their  own  presence. 
But  the  lava  stream  of  the  Arab,  even  after  it  ceased  to  flow, 
warmed  the  whole  of  the  Northern  air ;  and  the  history  of 
Gothic  architecture  is  the  history  of  the  refinement  and  spir- 
itualisation  of  Northern  work  under  its  influence.  The  no- 
blest buildings  of  the  world,  the  Pisan-Komanesque,  Tuscan 
(Giottesque)  Gothic,  and  Veronese  Gothic,  are  those  of  the 
Lombard  schools  themselves,  under  its  close  and  direct  in- 
fluence ;  the  various  Gothics  of  the  North  are  the  original 
forms  of  the  architecture  which  the  Lombards  brought  into 
Italy,  changing  under  the  less  direct  influence  of  the  Arab. 

§  xxx.  Understanding  thus  much  of  the  formation  of  the 
great  European  styles,  wTe  shall  have  no  difficulty  in  tracing 
the  succession  of  architectures  in  Venice  herself.  From  what 
I  said  of  the  central  character  of  Venetian  art,  the  reader  is 
not,  of  course,  to  conclude  that  the  Roman,  Northern,  and 
Arabian  elements  met  together  and  contended  for  the  mastery 
at  the  same  period.  The  earliest  element  was  the  pure  Chris- 
tian Roman  ;  but  few,  if  any,  remains  of  this  art  exist  at 
Venice  ;  for  the  present  city  was  in  the  earliest  times  only 
one  of  many  settlements  formed  on  the  chain  of  marshy  islands 
which  extend  from  the  mouths  of  the  Isonzo  to  those  of  the 
Adige,  and  it  was  not  until  the  beginning  of  the  ninth  cent- 
ury that  it  became  the  seat  of  government ;  while  the  cathe- 
dral of  Torcello,  though  Christian  Roman  in  general  form, 
was  rebuilt  in  the  eleventh  century,  and  shows  evidence  ot 
Byzantine  workmanship  in  many  of  its  details.  This  cathe- 
dral, however,  with  the  church  of  Santa  Fosca  at  Torcello, 
Vol.  I. — 3 


34 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


San  Giacomo  di  Eialto  at  Venice,  and  the  crypt  of  St.  Mark's, 
forms  a  distinct  group  of  buildings,  in  which  the  Byzantine 
influence  is  exceedingly  slight ;  and  which  is  probably  very 
sufficiently  representative  of  the  earliest  architecture  on  the 
islands. 

§  xxxi.  The  Ducal  residence  was  removed  to  Venice  in  809, 
and  the  body  of  St.  Mark  was  brought  from  Alexandria  twenty 
years  later.  The  first  church  of  St.  Mark's  was,  doubtless, 
built  in  imitation  of  that  destroyed  at  Alexandria,  and  from 
which  the  relics  of  the  saint  had  been  obtained.  During  the 
ninth,  tenth,  and  eleventh  centuries,  the  architecture  of  Ven- 
ice seems  to  have  been  formed  on  the  same  model,  and  is 
almost  identical  with  that  of  Cairo  under  the  caliphs,*  it 
being  quite  immaterial  whether  the  reader  chooses  to  call 
both  Byzantine  or  both  Arabic  ;  the  workmen  being  certainly 
Byzantine,  but  forced  to  the  invention  of  new  forms  by  their 
Arabian  masters,  and  bringing  these  forms  into  use  in  what- 
ever other  parts  of  the  world  they  were  employed. 

To  this  first  manner  of  Venetian  architecture,  together  with 
such  vestiges  as  remain  of  the  Christian  Koman,  I  shall  de- 
vote the  first  division  of  the  following  inquiry;  The  examples 
remaining  of  it  consist  of  three  noble  churches  (those  of  Tor- 
cello,  Murano,  and  the  greater  part  of  St.  Mark's),  and  about 
ten  or  twelve  fragments  of  palaces. 

§  xxxii.  To  this  style  succeeds  a  transitional  one,  of  a  char- 
acter much  more  distinctly  Arabian  :  the  shafts  become  more 
slender,  and  the  arches  consistently  pointed,  instead  of  round  ; 
certain  other  changes,  not  to  be  enumerated  in  a  sentence, 
taking  place  in  the  capitals  and  mouldings.  This  style  is  al- 
most exclusively  secular.  It  was  natural  for  the  Venetians  to 
imitate  the  beautiful  details  of  the  Arabian  dwelling-house, 
while  they  would  with  reluctance  adopt  those  of  the  mosque 
for  Christian  churches. 

I  have  not  succeeded  in  fixing  limiting  dates  for  this  style. 
It  appears  in  part  contemporary  writh  the  Byzantine  manner, 
but  outlives  it.  Its  position  is,  however,  fixed  by  the  central 
date,  1180,  that  of  the  elevation  of  the  granite  shafts  of  the 
*  Appendix  10,  li  Church  of  Alexandria." 


THE  QUARRY. 


35 


Piazetta,  whose  capitals  are  the  two  most  important  pieces  of 
detail  in  this  transitional  style  in  Venice.  Examples  of  its  ap- 
plication to  domestic  buildings  exist  in  almost  every  street  of 
the  city,  and  will  form  the  subject  of  the  second  division  of 
the  following  essay. 

§  xxxm.  The  Venetians  were  always  ready  to  receive  les- 
sons in  art  from  their  enemies  (else  had  there  been  no  Arab 
work  in  Venice).  But  their  especial  dread  and  hatred  of  the 
Lombards  appears  to  have  long  prevented  them  from  receiv- 
ing the  influence  of  the  art  which  that  people  had  introduced 
on  the  mainland  of  Italy.  Nevertheless,  during  the  practice 
of  the  two  styles  above  distinguished,  a  peculiar  and  very 
primitive  condition  of  pointed  Gothic  had  arisen  in  ecclesias- 
tical architecture.  It  appears  to  be  a  feeble  reflection  of  the 
Lombard- Arab  forms,  which  were  attaining  perfection  upon 
the  continent,  and  would  probably,  if  left  to  itself,  have  been 
soon  merged  in  the  Venetian-Arab  school,  with  which  it  had 
from  the  first  so  close  a  fellowship,  that  it  will  be  found  diffi- 
cult to  distinguish  the  Arabian  ogives  from  those  which  seem  to 
have  been  built  under  this  early  Gothic  influence.  The  churches 
of  San  Giacopo  delT  Orio,  San  Giovanni  in  Bragora,  the  Car- 
mine, and  one  or  two  more,  furnish  the  only  important  ex- 
amples of  it.  But,  in  the  thirteenth  century,  the  Franciscans 
and  Dominicans  introduced  from  the  continent  their  morality 
and  their  architecture,  already  a  distinct  Gothic,  curiously 
developed  from  Lombardic  and  Northern  (German  ?)  forms ; 
and  the  influence  of  the  principles  exhibited  in  the  vast 
churches  of  St.  Paul  and  the  Frari  began  rapidly  to  affect  the 
Venetian-Arab  school.  Still  the  two  systems  never  became 
united  ;  the  Venetian  policy  repressed  the  power  of  the  church, 
and  the  Venetian  artists  resisted  its  example  ;  and  thence- 
forward the  architecture  of  the  city  becomes  divided  into 
ecclesiastical  and  civil :  the  one  an  ungraceful  yet  powerful 
form  of  the  Western  Gothic,  common  to  the  whole  peninsula, 
and  only  showing  Venetian  sympathies  in  the  adoption  oi 
certain  characteristic  mouldings  ;  the  other  a  rich,  luxuriant* 
and  entirely  original  Gothic,  formed  from  the  Venetian-Arab 
by  the  influence  of  the  Dominican  and  Franciscan  architect- 


86  THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 

are,  and  especially  by  the  engrafting  upon  the  Arab  forms  of 
the  most  novel  feature  of  the  Franciscan  work,  its  traceries. 
These  various  forms  of  Gothic,  the  distinctive  architecture  of 
Venice,  chiefly  represented  by  the  churches  of  St.  John  and 
Paul,  the  Frari,  and  San  Stefano,  on  the  ecclesiastical  side, 
and  by  the  Ducal  palace,  and  the  other  principal  Gothic  pal  - 
aces, on  the  secular  side,  will  be  the  subject  of  the  third  di 
vision  of  the  essay. 

§  xxxiv.  Now  observe.  The  transitional  (or  especially 
Arabic)  style  of  the  Venetian  work  is  centralised  by  the  date 
1180,  and  is  transformed  gradually  into  the  Gothic,  which  ex- 
tends in  its  purity  from  the  middle  of  the  thirteenth  to  the 
beginning  of  the  fifteenth  century  ;  that  is  to  say,  over  the 
precise  period  which  I  have  described  as  the  central  epoch  of 
the  life  of  Venice.  I  dated  her  decline  from  the  year  1418  ; 
Foscari  became  doge  five  years  later,  and  in  his  reign  the  first 
marked  signs  appear  in  architecture  of  that  mighty  change 
which  Philippe  de  Commynes  notices  as  above,  the  change  to 
which  London  owes  St.  Paul's,  Rome  St.  Peter's,  Venice  and 
Vicenza  the  edifices  commonly  supposed  to  be  their  noblest, 
and  Europe  in  general  the  degradation  of  every  art  she  has 
since  practised. 

§  xxxv.  This  change  appears  first  in  a  loss  of  truth  and  vi- 
tality in  existing  architecture  all  over  the  world.  (Compare 
"Seven  Lamps,"  chap.  ii.).  All  the  Gothics  in  existence, 
southern  or  northern,  were  corrupted  at  once  :  the  German 
and  French  lost  themselves  in  every  species  of  extravagance  ; 
the  English  Gothic  was  confined,  in  its  insanity,  by  a  strait- 
waistcoat  of  perpendicular  lines ;  the  Italian  effloresced  on 
the  mainland  into  the  meaningless  ornamentation  of  the  Cer- 
tosa  of  Pavia  and  the  Cathedral  of  Como  (a  style  sometimes 
ignorantly  called  Italian  Gothic),  and  at  Venice  into  the  in- 
sipid confusion  of  the  Porta  della  Carta  and  wild  crockets  of 
St.  Mark's.  This  corruption  of  all  architecture,  especially 
ecclesiastical,  corresponded  with,  and  marked  the  state  of  re- 
ligion over  all  Europe, — the  peculiar  degradation  of  the  Bo- 
manist  superstition,  and  of  public  morality  in  consequence2 
which  brought  about  the  Reformation, 


THE  QUARRY. 


31 


§  xxxvi.  Against  the  corrupted  papacy  arose  two  great 
divisions  of  adversaries,  Protestants  in  Germany  and  Eng- 
land, Rationalists  in  France  and  Italy  ;  the  one  requiring  the 
purification  of  religion,  the  other  its  destruction.  The  Pro- 
testant kept  the  religion,  but  cast  aside  the  heresies  of  Rome, 
and  with  them  her  arts,  by  which  last  rejection  he  injured  his 
own  character,  cramped  his  intellect  in  refusing  to  it  one  of 
its  noblest  exercises,  and  materially  diminished  his  influence. 
It  may  be  a  serious  question  how  far  the  Pausing  of  the  Re- 
formation has  been  a  consequence  of  this  error. 

The  Rationalist  kept  the  arts  and  cast  aside  the  religion. 
This  rationalistic  art  is  the  art  commonly  called  Renaissance, 
marked  by  a  return  to  pagan  systems,  not  to  adopt  them  and 
hallow  them  for  Christianity,  but  to  rank  itself  under  them  as 
an  imitator  and  pupil.  In  Painting  it  is  headed  by  Giulio 
Romano  and  Nicolo  Poussin  ;  in  Architecture  by  Sansovino 
and  Palladio. 

§  xxxvu.  Instant  degradation  followed  in  every  direction,— 
a  flood  of  folly  and  hypocrisy.  Mythologies  ill  understood 
at  first,  then  perverted  into  feeble  sensualities,  take  the  place 
of  the  representations  of  Christian  subjects,  which  had  be- 
come blasphemous  under  the  treatment  of  men  like  the  Ca- 
racci.  Gods  without  power,  satyrs  without  rusticity,  nymphs 
without  innocence,  men  without  humanity,  gather  into  idiot 
groups  upon  the  polluted  canvas,  and  scenic  affectations  en- 
cumber the  streets  with  preposterous  marble.  Lower  and 
lower  declines  the  level  of  abused  intellect ;  the  base  school 
of  landscape*  gradually  usurps  the  place  of  the  historical 
painting,  which  had  sunk  into  prurient  pedantry, — the  Alsa- 
tian sublimities  of  Salvator,  the  confectionery  idealities  of 
Claude,  the  dull  manufacture  of  Gaspar  and  Canaletto,  south 
of  the  Alps,  and  on  the  north  the  patient  devotion  of  besotted 
lives  to  delineation  of  bricks  and  fogs,  fat  cattle  and  ditch- 
water.  And  thus  Christianity  and  morality,  courage,  and 
intellect,  and  art  all  crumbling  together  into  one  wreck,  we 
are  hurried  on  to  the  fall  of  Italy,  the  revolution  in  France, 

*  Appendix  11,  "Renaissance  Landscape." 


38 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


and  the  condition  of  art  in  England  (saved  by  her  Protestant* 
ism  from  severer  penalty)  in  the  time  of  George  II. 

§  xxxviii.  I  have  not  written  in  vain  if  I  have  heretofore 
done  anything  towards  diminishing  the  reputation  of  the  Ee- 
naissance  landscape  painting.  But  the  harm  which  has  been 
done  by  Claude  and  the  Poussins  is  as  nothing  when  com- 
pared to  the  mischief  effected  by  Palladio,  Scamozzi,  and 
Sansovino.  Claude  and  the  Poussins  were  weak  men,  and 
have  had  no  serious  influence  on  the  general  mind.  There  is 
little  harm  in  their  works  being  purchased  at  high  prices : 
their  real  influence  is  very  slight,  and  they  may  be  left  with- 
out grave  indignation  to  their  poor  mission  of  furnishing 
drawing-rooms  and  assisting  stranded  conversation.  Not  so 
the  Eenaissance  architecture.  Eaised  at  once  into  all  the 
magnificence  of  which  it  was  capable  by  Michael  Angelo,  then 
taken  up  by  men  of  real  intellect  and  imagination,  such  as 
Scamozzi,  Sansovino,  Inigo  Jones,  and  Wren,  it  is  impossible 
to  estimate  the  extent  of  its  influence  on  the  European  mind ; 
and  that  the  more,  because  few  persons  are  concerned  with 
painting,  and,  of  those  few,  the  larger  number  regard  it  with 
slight  attention  ;  but  all  men  are  concerned  with  architecture, 
and  have  at  some  time  of  their  lives  serious  business  with  it. 
It  does  not  much  matter  that  an  individual  loses  two  or  three 
hundred  pounds  in  buying  a  bad  picture,  but  it  is  to  be  re- 
gretted that  a  nation  should  lose  two  or  three  hundred  thou- 
sand in  raising  a  ridiculous  building.  Nor  is  it  merely  wasted 
wealth  or  distempered  conception  which  we  have  to  regret  in 
this  Eenaissance  architecture  :  but  we  shall  find  in  it  partly 
the  root,  partly  the  expression,  of  certain  dominant  evils  of 
modern  times— over-sophistication  and  ignorant  classicalism  ; 
the  one  destroying  the  healthfulness  of  general  society,  the 
other  rendering  our  schools  and  universities  useless  to  a  large 
number  of  the  men  who  pass  through  them. 

Now  Venice,  as  she  was  once  the  most  religious,  was  in  her 
fall  the  most  corrupt,  of  European  states ;  and  as  she  was  in 
her  strength  the  centre  of  the  pure  currents  of  Christian  archi- 
tecture, so  she  is  in  her  decline  the  source  of  the  Eenaissance. 
It  was  the  originality  and  splendor  of  the  Palaces  of  Vicenza 


THE  QUARRY. 


39 


and  Venice  which  gave  this  school  its  eminence  in  the  eyes  of 
Europe  ;  and  the  dying  city,  magnificent  in  her  dissipation, 
and  graceful  in  her  follies,  obtained  wider  worship  in  her  de< 
crepitude  than  in  her  youth,  and  sank  from  the  midst  of  he? 
admirers  into  the  grave. 

§  xxxix.  It  is  in  Venice,  therefore,  and  in  Venice  only  that 
effectual  blows  can  be  struck  at  this  pestilent  art  of  the  Renais- 
sance. Destroy  its  claims  to  admiration  there,  and  it  can  as- 
sert them  nowhere  else.  This,  therefore,  will  be  the  final  pur- 
pose of  the  following  essay.  I  shall  not  devote  a  fourth  section 
to  Palladio,  nor  weary  the  reader  with  successive  chapters  of 
virtuperation  ;"  but  I  shall,  in  my  account  of  the  earlier  archi- 
tecture, compare  the  forms  of  all  its  leading  features  with 
those  into  which  they  were  corrupted  by  the  Classicalists  ;  and 
pause,  in  the  close,  on  the  edge  of  the  precipice  of  decline,  so 
soon  as  I  have  made  its  depths  discernible.  In  doing  this  I 
shall  depend  upon  two  distinct  kinds  of  evidence  : — the  first, 
the  testimony  borne  by  particular  incidents  and  facts  to  a 
want  of  thought  or  of  feeling  in  the  builders  ;  from  which  we 
may  conclude  that  their  architecture  must  be  bad  : — the  sec- 
ond, the  sense,  which  I  doubt  not  I  shall  be  able  to  excite  in 
the  reader,  of  a  systematic  ugliness  in  the  architecture  itself, 
Of  the  first  kind  of  testimony  I  shall  here  give  two  instances, 
which  may  be  immediately  useful  in  fixing  in  the  reader's  mind 
the  epoch  above  indicated  for  the  commencement  of  decline. 

§  xl.  I  must  again  refer  to  the  importance  which  I  have 
above  attached  to  the  death  of  Carlo  Zeno  and  the  doge  To- 
maso  Mocenigo.  The  tomb  of  that  doge  is,  as  I  said,  wrought 
by  a  Florentine  ;  but  it  is  of  the  same  general  type  and  feel- 
ing as  all  the  Venetian  tombs  of  the  period,  and  it  is  one  of  the 
the  last  which  retains  it.  The  classical  element  enters  largely 
into  its  details,  but  the  feeling  of  the  whole  is  as  yet  unaf- 
fected. Like  all  the  lovely  tombs  of  Venice  and  Verona,  it  is 
a  sarcophagus  with  a  recumbent  figure  above,  and  this  figure 
is  a  faithful  but  tender  portrait,  wrought  as  far  as  it  can  be 
without  painfulness,  of  the  doge  as  he  lay  in  death.  He  wears 
his  ducal  robe  and  bonnet — his  head  \s  laid  slightly  aside  upon 
his  pillowT — his  hands  are  simply  crossed  as  they  fall.  The 


40 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


face  is  emaciated,  the  features  large,  but  so  pure  and  lordly 
in  their  natural  chiselling,  that  they  must  have  looked  like 
marble  even  in  their  animation.  They  are  deeply  worn  away 
by  thought  and  death  ;  the  veins  on  the  temples  branched  and 
starting ;  the  skin  gathered  in  sharp  folds  ;  the  brow  high- 
arched  and  shaggy  ;  the  eye-ball  magnificently  large  ;  the 
curve  of  the  lips  just  veiled  by  the  light  mustache  at  the  side ; 
the  beard  short,  double,  and  sharp-pointed :  all  noble  and 
quiet ;  the  white  sepulchral  dust  marking  like  light  the  stern 
angles  of  the  cheek  and  brow. 

This  tomb  was  sculptured  in  1424,  and  is  thus  described  by 
one  of  the  most  intelligent  of  the  recent  writers  who  represent 
the  popular  feeling  respecting  Venetian  art. 

"  Of  the  Italian  school  is  also  the  rich  but  ugly  (ricco  ma 
non  bel)  sarcophagus  in  which  repose  the  ashes  of  Tomaso 
Mocenigo.  It  may  be  called  one  of  the  last  links  which  con- 
nect the  declining  art  of  the  Middle  Ages  with  that  of  the 
Renaissance,  which  was  in  its  rise.  We  will  not  stay  to  par- 
ticularise the  defects  of  each  of  the  seyen  figures  of  the  front 
and  sides,  which  represent  the  cardinal  and  theological  virtues ; 
nor  will  we  make  any  remarks  upon  those  which  stand  in  the 
niches  above  the  pavilion,  because  we  consider  them  unworthy 
both  of  the  age  and  reputation  of  the  Florentine  school,  which 
was  then  with  reason  considered  the  most  notable  in  Italy."  * 

It  is  well,  indeed,  not  to  pause  over  these  defects  ;  but  it 
might  have  been  better  to  have  paused  a  moment  beside  that 
noble  image  of  a  king's  mortality. 

§  xli.  In  the  choir  of  the  same  church,  St.  Giov,  and  Paolo, 
is  another  tomb,  that  of  the  Doge  Andrea  Vendramin.  This 
doge  died  in  1478,  after  a  short  reign  of  two  years,  the  most 
disastrous  in  the  annals  of  Venice.  He  died  of  a  pestilence 
which  followed  the  ravage  of  the  Turks,  carried  to  the  shores 
of  the  lagoons.  He  died,  leaving  Venice  disgraced  by  sea  and 
land,  with  the  smoke  of  hostile  devastation  rising  in  the  blue 
distances  of  Friuli ;  and  there  was  raised  to  him  the  most 
costly  tomb  ever  bestowed  on  her  monarchs. 

§  xlii.  If  the  writer  above  quoted  was  cold  beside  the 
*  Selvatico,  44  Architettura  di  Venezia,"  p.  147. 


THE  QUARRY. 


41 


statue  of  one  of  the  fathers  of  his  country,  he  atones  for  it  by 
his  eloquence  beside  the  tomb  of  the  Vendramin.  I  must  not 
spoil  the  force  of  Italian  superlative  by  translation. 

"  Quando  si  guarda  a  quella  corretta  eleganza  di  profili  e  di 
proporzioni,  a  quella  squisitezza  d'ornamenti,  a  quel  certo  sa- 
pore  antico  che  senza  ombra  d'imitazione  traspare  da  tutta 
1'opera  " — &c.  "  Sopra  ornatissimo  zoccolo  fornito  di  squisiti 
intagli  s'  alza  uno  stylobate  " — &c.  "  Sotto  le  colonne,  il  pre- 
detto  stilobate  si  muta  leggiadramente  in  piedistallo,  poi  con 
bella  no  vita  di  pensiero  e  di  effetto  va  coronato  da  un  fregio  il 
piu  gentile  che  veder  si  possa  " — &c.  "  Non  puossi  lasciar  senza 
un  cenno  Y  area  dove  sta  chiuso  il  doge  ;  capo  lavoro  di  pensi- 
ero e  di  esecuzione,"  &c. 

There  are  two  pages  and  a  half  of  closely  printed  praise,  of 
which  the  above  specimens  may  suffice  ;  but  there  is  not  a 
word  of  the  statue  of  the  dead  from  beginning  to  end.  I  am 
myself  in  the  habit  of  considering  this  rather  an  important 
part  of  a  tomb,  and  I  was  especially  interested  in  it  here,  be- 
cause Selvatico  only  echoes  the  praise  of  thousands.  It  is 
unanimously  declared  the  chef  d'eeuvre  of  Kenaissance  sepul- 
chral work,  and  pronounced  by  Cicognara  (also  quoted  by 
Selvatico) 

"  II  vertice  a  cui  1'  arti  Veneziane  si  spinsero  col  ministero 
del  scalpello," — "  The  very  culminating  point  to  which  the  Ve- 
netian arts  attained  by  ministry  of  the  chisel. " 

To  this  culminating  point,  therefore,  covered  with  dust  and 
cobwebs,  I  attained,  as  I  did  to  every  tomb  of  importance  in 
Venice,  by  the  ministry  of  such  ancient  ladders  as  were  to  be 
found  in  the  sacristan's  keeping.  I  was  struck  at  first  by  the 
excessive  awkwardness  and  want  of  feeling  in  the  fall  of  the 
hand  towards  the  spectator,  for  it  is  thrown  off  the  middle  of 
the  body  in  order  to  show  its  fine  cutting.  Now  the  Moce- 
nigo  hand,  severe  and  even  stiff  in  its  articulations,  has  its 
veins  finely  drawn,  its  sculptor  having  justly  felt  that  the  deli- 
cacy of  the  veining  expresses  alike  dignity  and  age  and  birth. 
The  Vendramin  hand  is  far  more  laboriously  cut,  but  its  blunt 


44 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


and  clumsy  contour  at  ouce  makes  us  feel  that  all  the  care  has 
been  thrown  away,  and  well  it  may  be,  for  it  has  been  entirely 
bestowed  in  cutting  gouty  wrinkles  about  the  joints.  Such  as 
the  hand  is,  I  looked  for  its  fellow.  At  first  I  thought  it  had 
been  broken  off,  but,  on  clearing  away  the  dust,  I  saw  the 
wretched  effigy  had  only  one  hand,  and  was  a  mere  block  on 
the  inner  side.  The  face,  heavy  and  disagreeable  in  its  feat- 
ures, is  made  monstrous  by  its  semi-sculpture.  One  side  of 
the  forehead  is  wrinkled  elaborately,  the  other  left  smooth  ; 
one  side  only  of  the  doge's  cap  is  chased  ;  one  cheek  only  is 
finished,  and  the  other  blocked  out  and  distorted  besides ; 
finally,  the  ermine  robe,  which  is  elaborately  imitated  to  its 
utmost  lock  of  hair  and  of  ground  hair  on  the  one  side,  is 
blocked  out  only  on  the  other  :  it  having  been  supposed 
throughout  the  work  that  '"he  effigy  was  only  to  be  seen  from 
below,  and  from  one  side. 

§  xliii.  It  was  indeed  to  be  so  seen  by  nearly  every  one  ; 
and  I  do  not  blame — I  should,  on  the  contrary,  have  praised 
■ — the  sculptor  for  regulating  his  treatment  of  it  by  its  posi- 
tion ;  if  that  treatment  had  not  involved,  first,  dishonesty,  in 
giving  only  half  a  face,  a  monstrous  mask,  when  we  demanded 
true  portraiture  of  the  dead  ;  and,  secondly,  such  utter  cold- 
ness of  feeling,  as  could  only  consist  with  an  extreme  of  intel- 
lectual and  moral  degradation :  Who,  with  a  heart  in  his 
breast,  could  have  stayed  his  hand  as  he  drew  the  dim  lines  of 
the  old  man's  countenance — unmajestie  once,  indeed,  but  at 
least  sanctified  by  the  solemnities  of  death — could  have  stayed 
his  hand,  as  he  reached  the  bend  of  the  grey  forehead,  and 
measured  out  the  last  veins  of  it  at  so  much  the  zeechin  ? 

I  do  not  think  the  reader,  if  he  has  feeling,  will  expect  that 
much  talent  should  be  shown  in  the  rest  of  his  work,  by  the 
sculptor  of  this  base  and  senseless  lie.  The  whole  monument 
is  one  wearisome  aggregation  of  that  species  of  ornamental 
llourish,  which,  when  it  is  done  with  a  pen,  is  called  penman- 
ship, and  when  done  with  a  chisel,  should  be  called  chisel- 
manship ;  the  subject  of  it  being  chiefly  fat-limbed  boys  sprawl- 
ing on  dolphins,  dolphins  incapable  of  swimming,  and  dragged 
*ilong  the  sea  by  expanded  pocket-handkerchiefs. 


THE  QUARRY. 


43 


But  now,  reader,  comes  the  very  gist  and  point  of  tke  whole 
matter.  This  lying  monument  to  a  dishonored  doge,  this 
culminating  pride  of  the  Renaissance  art  of  Venice,  is  at  least 
veracious,  if  in  nothing  else,  in  its  testimony  to  the  character 
of  its  sculptor.  He  was  banished  from  Venice  for  forgery  in 
1487.* 

§  xliv.  I  have  more  to  say  about  this  convict's  work  here- 
after ;  but  I  pass  at  present,  to  the  second,  slighter,  but  yet 
more  interesting  piece  of  evidence,  which  I  promised. 

The  ducal  palace  has  two  principal  facades  ;  one  towards 
the  sea,  the  other  towards  the  Piazzetta.  The  seaward  side, 
and,  as  far  as  the  seventh  main  arch  inclusive,  the  Piazzetta 
side,  is  work  of  the  early  part  of  the  fourteenth  century,  some 
of  it  perhaps  even  earlier  ;  while  the  rest  of  the  Piazzetta  side 
is  of  the  fifteenth.  The  difference  in  age  has  been  gravely  dis- 
puted by  the  Venetian  antiquaries,  who  have  examined  many 
documents  on  the  subject,  and  quoted  some  which  they 
never  examined.  I  have  myself  collated  most  of  the  written 
documents,  and  one  document  more,  to  which  the  Venetian 
antiquaries  never  thought  of  referring, — the  masonry  of  the 
palace  itself. 

§  xlv.  That  masonry  changes  at  the  centre  of  the  eighth 
arch  from  the  sea  angle  on  the  Piazzetta  side.  It  has  been 
of  comparatively  small  stones  up  to  that  point  ;  the  fifteenth 
century  work  instantly  begins  with  larger  stones,  "  brought 
from  Istria,  a  hundred  miles  away."  j-  The  ninth  shaft  from 
the  sea  in  the  lower  arcade,  and  the  seventeenth,  which  is 
above  it,  in  the  upper  arcade,  commence  the  series  of  fif- 
teenth century  shafts.  These  two  are  somewhat  thicker  than 
the  others,  and  carry  the  party-wall  of  the  Sala  del  Scrutinio. 
Now  observe,  reader.  The  face  of  the  palace,  from  this*  point 
to  the  Porta  della  Carta,  was  built  at  the  instance  of  that 
noble  Doge  Mocenigo  beside  whose  tomb  you  have  been 
standing ;  at  his  instance,  and  in  the  beginning  of  the  reign 
of  his  successor,  Foscari ;  that  is  to  say,  circa  1424.  This  is 
not  disputed  ;  it  is  only  disputed  that  the  sea  facade  is  earlier  ; 

*  Selvatico,  p.  221. 

j  The  older  work  is  of  Tstrian  stone  also,  but  of  different  quality. 


44 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


of  which,  however,  the  proofs  are  as  simple  as  they  are  incon- 
trovertible :  for  not  only  the  masonry,  but  the  sculpture, 
changes  at  the  ninth  lower  shaft,  and  that  in  the  capitals  of 
the  shafts  both  of  the  upper  and  lower  arcade  :  the  costumes 
of  the  figures  introduced  in  the  sea  facade  being  purely  Giot- 
tesque,  correspondent  with  Giotto's  work  in  the  Arena  Chapel 
at  Padua,  while  the  costume  on  the  other  capitals  is  Kenais- 
sance-Classic  :  and  the  lions'  heads  between  the  arches  change 
at  the  same  point.  And  there  are  a  multitude  of  other  evi- 
dences in  the  statues  of  the  angels,  with  which  I  shall  not  at 
present  trouble  the  reader. 

§  xlvi.  Now,  the  architect  who  built  under  Foscari,  in  1424 
(remember  my  date  for  the  decline  of  Venice,  1418),  was 
obliged  to  follow  the  principal  forms  of  the  older  palace.  But 
he  had  not  the  wit  to  invent  new  capitals  in  the  same  style  ; 
he  therefore  clumsily  copied  the  old  ones.  The  palace  has 
seventeen  main  arches  on  the  sea  facade,  eighteen  on  the 
Piazzetta  side,  which  in  all  are  of  course  carried  by  thirty-six 
pillars  ;  and  these  pillars  I  shall  always  number  from  right  to 
left,  from  the  angle  of  the  palace  at  the  Ponte  della  Paglia  to 
that  next  the  Porta  della  Carta.  I  number  them  in  this  suc- 
cession, because  I  thus  have  the  earliest  shafts  first  numbered. 
So  counted,  the  1st,  the  18th,  and  the  36  th,  are  the  great 
supports  of  the  angles  of  the  palace  ;  and  the  first  of  the  fif- 
teenth century  series,  being,  as  above  stated,  the  9th  from  the 
sea  on  the  Piazzetta  side,  is  the  26th  of  the  entire  series,  and 
will  always  in  future  be  so  numbered,  so  that  all  numbers 
above  twenty-six  indicate  fifteenth  century  work,  and  all  below 
it,  fourteenth  century,  with  some  exceptional  cases  of  restora- 
tion. 

Then  the  copied  capitals  are  :  the  28th,  copied  from  the 
7th  ;  the  29th,  from  the  9th ;  the  30th,  from  the  10th  ;  the 
31st,  from  the  8th  ;  the  33d,  from  the  12th  ;  and  the  34th, 
from  the  11th  ;  the  others  being  dull  inventions  of  the  15th 
century,  except  the  36th,  which  is  very  nobly  designed. 

§  xlvii.  The  capitals  thus  selected  from  the  earlier  portion 
of  the  palace  for  imitation,  together  with  the  rest,  will  be  ac- 
curately described  hereafter  ;  the  point  I  have  here  to  notice 


THE  QUARRY. 


45 


is  in  the  copy  of  the  ninth  capital,  which  was  decorated  (being, 
like  the  rest,  octagonal)  with  figures  of  the  eight  Virtues  : — 
Faith,  Hope,  Charity,  Justice,  Temperance,  Prudence,  Humil- 
ity (the  Venetian  antiquaries  call  it  Humanity  !),  and  Forti- 
tude. The  Virtues  of  the  fourteenth  century  are  somewhat 
hard-featured  ;  with  vivid  and  living  expression,  and  plain 
©very-day  clothes  of  the  time.  Charity  has  her  lap  full  of 
apples  (perhaps  loaves),  and  is  giving  one  to  a  little  child,  who 
stretches  his  arm  for  it  across  a  gap  in  the  leafage  of  the  capi- 
tal. Fortitude  tears  open  a  lion's  jaws  ;  Faith  lays  her  hand 
on  her  breast,  as  she  beholds  the  Cross  ;  and  Hope  is  praying, 
while  above  her  a  hand  is  seen  emerging  from  sunbeams — the 
hand  of  God  (according  to  that  of  Revelations,  "  The  Lord  God 
giveth  them  light  ")  ;  and  the  inscription  above  is,  "  Spes  op- 
tima in  Deo." 

§  xlviii.  This  design,  then,  is,  rudely  and  with  imperfect 
chiselling,  imitated  by  the  fifteenth  century  workmen  :  the 
Virtues  have  lost  their  hard  features  and  living  expression  ; 
they  have  now  all  got  Eoman  noses,  and  have  had  their  hair 
curled.  Their  actions  and  emblems  are,  however,  preserved 
until  we  come  to  Hope  :  she  is  still  praying,  but  she  is  pray- 
ing to  the  sun  only  :  The  hand  of  God  is  gone. 

Is  not  this  a  curious  and  striking  type  of  the  spirit  which 
had  then  become  dominant  in  the  world,  forgetting  to  see 
God's  hand  in  the  light  He  gave  ;  so  that  in  the  issue,  when 
that  light  opened  into  the  Keformation  on  the  one  side,  and 
into  full  knowledge  of  ancient  literature  on  the  other,  the  one 
was  arrested  and  the  other  perverted  ? 

§  xlix.  Such  is  tne  nature  of  the  accidental  evidence  on 
which  I  shall  depend  for  the  proof  of  the  inferiority  of  charao 
ter  in  the  Renaissance  workmen.  But  the  proof  of  the  infe- 
riority of  the  work  itself  is  not  so  easy,  for  in  this  I  have  to 
appeal  to  judgments  which  the  Renaissance  work  has  itself  dis- 
torted. I  felt  this  difficulty  very  forcibly  as  I  read  a  slight 
review  of  my  former  work,  "  The  Seven  Lamps,"  in  "  The 
Architect : "  the  writer  noticed  my  constant  praise  of  St. 
Mark's  :  "  Mr.  Ruskin  thinks  it  a  very  beautiful  building  ! 
We,"  said  the  Architect,  "  think  it  a  very  ugly  building."    I  ^ 


46 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


was  not  surprised  at  the  difference  of  opinion,  but  at  the  thing 
being  consided  so  completely  a  subject  of  opinion.  My  op- 
ponents in  matters  of  painting  always  assume  that  there  is 
such  a  thing  as  a  law  of  right,  and  that  I  do  not  understand  it : 
but  my  architectual  adversaries  appeal  to  no  law,  they  simply 
set  their  opinion  against  mine  ;  and  indeed  there  is  no  law  at 
present  to  which  either  they  or  I  can  appeal.  No  man  can 
speak  with  rational  decision  of  the  merits  or  demerits  of  build- 
ings :  he  may  with  obstinacy  ;  he  may  with  resolved  adherence 
to  previous  prejudices  ;  but  never  as  if  the  matter  could  be 
otherwise  decided  than  by  a  majority  of  votes,  or  pertinacity 
of  partizanship.  I  had  always,  however,  a  clear  conviction  that 
there  was  a  law  in  this  matter  :  that  good  architecture  might 
be  indisputably  discerned  and  divided  from  the  bad  ;  that  the 
opposition  in  their  very  nature  and  essence  was  clearly  visible  ; 
and  that  we  were  all  of  us  just  as  unwise  in  disputing  about 
the  matter  without  reference  to  principle,  as  we  should  be  for 
debating  about  the  genuineness  of  a  coin;  without  ringing  it. 
I  felt  also  assured  that  this  law  must  be  universal  if  it  were 
conclusive  ;  that  it  must  enable  us  to  reject  all  foolish  and  base 
work,  and  to  accept  all  noble  and  wise  work,  without  reference 
to  style  or  national  feeling  ;  that  it  must  sanction  the  design 
of  all  truly  great  nations  and  times,  Gothic  or  Greek  or  Arab  i 
that  it  must  cast  off  and  reprobate  the  design  of  all  foolish 
nations  and  times,  Chinese  or  Mexican,  or  modern  European : 
and  that  it  must  be  easily  applicable  to  all  possible  architec- 
tural inventions  of  human  mind.  I  set  myself,  therefore,  to 
establish  such  a  law,  in  full  belief  that  men  are  intended,  witl> 
out  excessive  difficulty,  and  by  use  of  their  general  common 
sense,  to  know  good  things  from  bad  ;  and  that  it  is  only  be- 
cause they  will  not  be  at  the  pains  required  for  the  discern* 
ment,  that  the  world  is  so  widely  encumbered  with  forgeries 
and  basenesses.  I  found  the  work  simpler  than  I  had  hoped  ; 
the  reasonable  things  ranged  themselves  in  the  order  I  re- 
quired, and  the  foolish  things  fell  aside,  and  took  themselves1 
away  so  soon  as  they  wrere  looked  in  the  face.  I  had  then, 
with  respect  to  Venetian  architecture,  the  choice,  either  to  es« 
tablish  each  division  of  law  in  a  separate  form,  as  I  came  to  the 


THE  QUARRY. 


47 


features  with  which  it  was  concerned,  or  else  to  ask  the  read- 
er's patience,  while  I  followed  out  the  general  inquiry  first, 
and  determined  with  him  a  code  of  right  and  wrong,  to  which 
we  might  together  make  retrospective  appeal.  I  thought  this 
the  best,  though  perhaps  the  dullest  way  ;  and  in  these  first 
following  pages  I  have  therefore  endeavored  to  arrange  those 
foundations  of  criticism,  on  which  I  shall  rest  in  my  account 
of  Venetian  architecture,  in  a  form  clear  and  simple  enough  to 
be  intelligible  even  to  those  who  never  thought  of  architecture 
before.  To  those  who  have,  much  of  what  is  stated  in  them 
will  be  well  known  or  self-evident  ;  but  they  must  not  be  in- 
dignant at  a  simplicity  on  which  the  whole  argument  depends 
for  its  usefulness.  From  that  which  appears  a  mere  truism 
when  first  stated,  they  will  find  very  singular  consequences 
sometimes  following, — consequences  altogether  unexpected, 
and  of  considerable  importance  ;  I  will  not  pause  here  to  d  well 
on  their  importance,  nor  on  that  of  the  thing  itself  to  be  done ; 
for  I  believe  most  readers  will  at  once  admit  the  value  of  a 
criterion  of  right  and  wrong  in  so  practical  and  costly  an  art 
as  architecture,  and  will  be  apt  rather  to  doubt  the  possibility 
of  its  attainment  than  dispute  its  usefulness  if  attained.  I  in- 
vite them,  therefore,  to  a  fair  trial,  being  certain  that  even  if  I 
should  fail  in  my  main  purpose,  and  be  unable  to  induce  in  my 
reader  the  confidence  of  judgment  I  desire,  I  shall  at  least  re- 
ceive his  thanks  for  the  suggestion  of  consistent  reasons,  which 
may  determine  hesitating  choice,  or  justify  involuntary  prefer- 
ence. And  if  I  should  succeed,  as  I  hope,  in  making  the 
Stones  of  Venice  touchstones,  and  detecting,  by  the  moulder- 
ing of  her  marble,  poison  more  subtle  than  ever  was  betrayed 
by  the  rending  of  her  crystal  ;  and  if  thus  I  am  enabled  to 
show  the  baseness  of  the  schools  of  architecture  and  nearly 
every  other  art,  which  have  for  three  centuries  been  predomi- 
nant in  Europe,  I  believe  the  result  of  the  inquiry  may  be  ser- 
viceable for  proof  of  a  more  vital  truth  than  any  at  which  I 
have  hitherto  hinted.  For  observe  :  I  said  the  Protestant  had 
despised  the  arts,  and  the  Eationalist  corrupted  them.  But 
what  has  the  Eomanist  done  meanwhile  ?  He  boasts  that  it 
was  the  papacy  which  raised  the  arts  ;  why  could  it  not  sup- 


48 


TEE  STONES  OF  VENICE, 


port  them  when  it  was  left  to  its  own  strength  ?  How  came 
it  to  yield  to  Classicalism  which  was  based  on  infidelity,  and 
to  oppose  no  barrier  to  innovations,  which  have  reduced  the 
once  faithfully  conceived  imagery  of  its  worship  to  stage  deco- 
ration ?  Shall  we  not  rather  find  that  Romanism,  instead  of 
being  a  promoter  of  the  arts,  has  never  shown  itself  capable  of 
a  single  great  conception  since  the  separation  of  Protestantism 
from  its  side  ?  *  So  long  as,  corrupt  though  it  might  be,  no 
clear  witness  had  been  borne  against  it,  so  that  it  still  included 
in  its  ranks  a  vast  number  of  faithful  Christians,  so  long  its 
arts  were  noble.  But  the  witness  was  borne— the  error  made 
apparent  ;  and  Rome  refusing  to  hear  the  testimony  or  forsake 
the  falsehood,  has  been  struck  from  that  instant  with  an  intel- 
lectual palsy,  which  has  not  only  incapacitated  her  from  any 
further  use  of  the  arts  which  once  were  her  ministers,  but  has 
made  her  worship  the  shame  of  its  own  shrines,  and  her  wor- 
shippers their  destroyers.  Come,  then,  if  truths  such  as  these 
are  worth  our  thoughts  ;  come,  and  letr  us  know,  before  we 
enter  the  streets  of  the  Sea  city,  whether  we  are  indeed  to  sub- 
mit ourselves  to  their  undistinguished  enchantment,  and  to 
look  upon  the  last  changes  which  were  wrought  on  the  lifted 
forms  of  her  palaces,  as  we  should  on  the  capricious  towering 
of  summer  clouds  in  the  sunset,  ere  they  sank  into  the  deep 
of  night  ;  or  whether,  rather,  we  shall  not  behold  in  the  bright- 
ness of  their  accumulated  marble,  pages  on  which  the  sentence 
of  her  luxury  was  to  be  written  until  the  waves  should  efface 
it,  as  they  fulfilled — <£  God  has  numbered  thy  kingdom,  and 
finished  it." 


CHAPTER  H. 

THE  VIRTUES  OE  ARCHITECTURE. 

§  i.  We  address  ourselves,  then,  first  to  the  task  of  deter- 
mining some  law  of  right  which  we  may  apply  to  the  archi- 
tecture of  all  the  world  and  of  all  time  ;  and  by  help  of  which, 
and  judgment  according  to  which,  we  may  easily  pronounce 
*  Appendix  12,  "  Romanist  Modern  Art." 


THE  VIRTUES  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


49 


whether  a  building  is  good  or  noble,  as,  by  applying  a  plumb- 
line,  whether  it  be  perpendicular. 

The  first  question  will  of  course  be,  What  are  the  possible 
Virtues  of  architecture  ? 

In  the  main,  we  require  from  buildings,  as  from  men,  two 
kinds  of  goodness :  first,  the  doing  their  practical  duty  well : 
then  that  they  be  graceful  and  pleasing  in  doing  it  ;  which 
last  is  itself  another  form  of  duty. 

Then  the  practical  duty  divides  itself  into  two  branches, — 
acting  and  talking  : — acting,  as  to  defend  us  from  weather  or 
violence  ;  talking,  as  the  duty  of  monuments  or  tombs,  to 
record  facts  and  express  feelings;  or  of  churches,  temples, 
public  edifices,  treated  as  books  of  history,  to  tell  such  his- 
tory clearly  and  forcibly. 

We  have  thus,  altogether,  three  great  branches  of  archi- 
tectural virtue,  and  we  require  of  any  building, — 

1.  That  it  act  well,  and  do  the  things  it  was  intended  to  do 

in  the  best  way. 

2.  That  it  speak  well,  and  say  the  things  it  was  intended  to 

say  in  the  best  words. 

3.  That  it  look  well,  and  please  us  by  its  presence,  what- 

ever it  has  to  do  or  say.* 
§  ii.  Now,  as  regards  the  second  of  these  virtues,  it  is  evi- 
dent that  we  can  establish  no  general  laws.  First,  because  it 
is  not  a  virtue  required  in  all  buildings  ;  there  are  some  which 
are  only  for  covert  or  defence,  and  from  which  we  ask  no 
conversation.  Secondly,  because  there  are  countless  methods 
of  expression,  some  conventional,  some  natural :  each  conven- 
tional mode  has  its  own  alphabet,  which  evidently  can  be  no 
subject  of  general  laws.  Every  natural  mode  is  instinctively 
employed  and  instinctively  understood,  wherever  there  is  true 
feeling  ;  and  this  instinct  is  above  law.  The  choice  of  con- 
ventional methods  depends  on  circumstances  out  of  calcula- 
tion, and  that  of  natural  methods  on  sensations  out  of  con- 
trol ;  so  that  we  can  only  say  that  the  choice  is  right,  when 
we  feel  that  the  means  are  effective  ;  3nd  we  cannot  always 
jsay  that  it  is  wrong  when  they  are  not  so. 

*  Appendix  13.    "  Mr.  Fergusson's  System." 
Vol.  I. — 4 


50 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


A  building  which  recorded  the  Bible  history  by  means  of 
a  series  of  sculptural  pictures,  would  be  perfectly  useless  to  a 
person  unacquainted  with  the  Bible  beforehand  ;  on  the  other 
hand,  the  text  of  the  Old  and  New  Testaments  might  be  writ- 
ten on  its  walls,  and  yet  the  building  be  a  very  inconvenient 
kind  of  book,  not  so  useful  as  if  it  had  been  adorned  with 
intelligible  and  vivid  sculpture.  So,  again,  the  power  of  ex- 
citing emotion  must  vary  or  vanish,  as  the  spectator  becomes 
thoughtless  or  cold  ;  and  the  building  may  be  often  blamed 
for  what  is  the  fault  of  its  critic,  or  endowed  with  a  charm 
which  is  of  its  spectator's  creation.  It  is  not,  therefore,  pos- 
sible to  make  expressional  character  any  fair  criterion  of  ex- 
cellence in  buildings,  until  we  can  fully  place  ourselves  in  the 
position  of  those  to  whom  their  expression  wTas  originally  ad- 
dressed, and  until  we  are  certain  that  we  understand  every 
symbol,  and  are  capable  of  being  touched  by  every  association 
which  its  builders  employed  as  letters  of  their  language.  I 
shall  continually  endeavor  to  put  the  reader  into  such  sym- 
pathetic temper,  when  I  ask  for  his  judgment  of  a  building  ; 
and  in  every  work  I  may  bring  before  him  I  shall  point  out, 
as  far  as  I  am  able,  whatever  is  peculiar  in  its  expression ; 
nay,  I  must  even  depend  on  such  peculiarities  for  much  of  my 
best  evidence  respecting  the  character  of  the  builders.  But 
I  cannot  legalize  the  judgment  for  which  I  plead,  nor  insist 
upon  it  if  it  be  refused.  I  can  neither  force  the  reader  to 
feel  this  architectural  rhetoric,  nor  compel  him  to  confess  that 
the  rhetoric  is  powerful,  if  it  have  produced  no  impression  on 
his  own  mind. 

§  in.  I  leave,  therefore,  the  expression  of  buildings  for  in- 
cidental notice  only.  But  their  other  two  virtues  are  proper 
subjects  of  law, — their  performance  of  their  common  andnec- 
3ssary  work,  and  their  conformity  with  universal  and  divine 
canons  of  loveliness :  respecting  these  there  can  be  no  doubt, 
no  ambiguity.  I  would  have  the  reader  discern  them,  so 
quickly  that,  as  he  passes  along  a  street,  he  may,  by  a  glance 
of  the  eye  distinguish  the  noble  from  the  ignoble  work.  He 
can  do  this,  if  he  permit  free  play  to  his  natural  instincts  ; 
and  all  that  I  have  to  do  for  him  is  to  remove  from  those  in- 


THE  VIRTUES  OF  ARCHITECTURE.  51 


stincts  the  artificial  restraints  which  prevent  their  action,  and 
to  encourage  them  to  an  unaffected  and  unbiassed  choice  be- 
tween right  and  wrong. 

§  iv.  We  have,  then,  two  qualities  of  buildings  for  subjects 
of  separate  inquiry  :  their  action,  and  aspect,  and  the  sources 
of  virtue  in  both  ;  that  is  to  say,  Strength  and  Beauty,  both 
of  these  being  less  admired  in  themselves,  than  as  testifying 
the  intelligence  or  imagination  of  the  builder. 

For  we  have  a  worthier  way  of  looking  at  human  than  at 
divine  architecture :  much  of  the  value  both  of  construction 
and  decoration,  in  the  edifices  of  men,  depends  upon  our 
being  led  by  the  thing  produced  or  adorned,  to  some  contem- 
plation of  the  powrers  of  mind  concerned  in  its  creation  or 
adornment.  We  are  not  so  led  by  divine  work,  but  are  con- 
tent to  rest  in  the  contemplation  of  the  thing  created.  I  wish 
the  reader  to  note  this  especially  :  we  take  pleasure,  or  should 
take  pleasure,  in  architectural  construction  altogether  as  the 
manifestation  of  an  admirable  human  intelligence  ;  it  is  not 
the  strength,  not  the  size,  not  the  finish  of  the  work  which 
we  are  to  venerate :  rocks  are  always  stronger,  mountains 
always  larger,  all  natural  objects  more  finished  ;  but  it  is  the 
intelligence  and  resolution  of  man  in  overcoming  physical 
difficulty  which  are  to  be  the  source  of  our  pleasure  and  sub- 
ject of  our  praise.  And  again,  in  decoration  or  beauty,  it  is 
less  the  actual  loveliness  of  the  thing  produced,  than  the 
choice  and  invention  concerned  in  the  production,  which  are 
to  delight  us  ;  the  love  and  the  thoughts  of  the  workman  more 
than  his  work  :  his  work  must  always  be  imperfect,  but  his 
thoughts  and  affections  may  be  true  and  deep. 

§  v.  This  origin  of  our  pleasure  in  architecture  I  must  in- 
sist upon  at  somewhat  greater  length,  for  I  would  fain  do 
away  with  some  of  the  ungrateful  coldness  which  we  show  to- 
wards the  good  builders  of  old  time.  In  no  art  is  there  closer 
connection  between  our  delight  in  the  work,  and  our  admira- 
tion of  the  workman's  mind,  than  in  architecture,  and  yet  we 
rarely  ask  for  a  builder's  name.  The  patron  at  whose  cost, 
the  monk  through  whose  dreaming,  the  foundation  was  laid, 
we  remember  occasionally  ;  never  the  man  who  verily  did  the 


52 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


work.  Did  the  reader  ever  hear  of  William  of  Sens  as  having 
had  anything  to  do  with  Canterbury  Cathedral  ?  or  of  Pietro 
Basegio  as  in  anywise  connected  with  the  Ducal  Palace  of  Ven- 
ice? There  is  much  ingratitude  and  injustice  in  this  ;  and 
therefore  I  desire  my  reader  to  observe  carefully  how  much 
of  his  pleasure  in  building  is  derived,  or  should  be  derived, 
from  admiration  of  the  intellect  of  men  whose  names  he 
knows  not. 

§  vi.  The  two  virtues  of  architecture  which  we  can  justly 
weigh,  are,  we  said,  its  strength  or  good  construction,  and  its 
beauty  or  good  decoration.  Consider  first,  therefore,  what 
you  mean  when  you  say  a  building  is  well  constructed  or  well 
built  ;  you  do  not  merely  mean  that  it  answers  its  purpose, — 
this  is  much,  and  many  modern  buildings  fail  of  this  much  ; 
but  if  it  be  verily  well  built,  it  must  answer  this  purpose  in 
the  simplest  way,  and  with  no  over-expenditure  of  means. 
We  require  of  a  light-house,  for  instance,  that  it  shall  stand 
firm  and  carry  a  light  ;  if  it  do  not  this,  assuredly  it  has  been 
ill  built ;  but  it  may  do  it  to  the  end  of  time,  and  yet  not  be 
well  built.  It  may  have  hundreds  of  tons  of  stone  in  it  more 
than  were  needed,  and  have  cost  thousands  of  pounds  more 
than  it  ought.  To  pronounce  it  well  or  ill  built,  we  must 
know  the  utmost  forces  it  can  have  to  resist,  and  the  best  ar- 
rangements of  stone  for  encountering  them,  and  the  quickest 
ways  of  effecting  such  arrangements  :  then  only,  so  far  as  such 
arrangements  have  been  chosen,  and  such  methods  used,  is  it 
well  built.  Then  the  knowledge  of  all  difficulties  to  be  met, 
and  of  all  means  of  meeting  them,  and  the  quick  and  true 
fancy  or  invention  of  the  modes  of  applying  the  means  to  the 
end,  are  what  we  have  to  admire  in  the  builder,  even  as  he  is 
seen  through  this  first  or  inferior  part  of  his  work,  Mental 
power,  observe  :  not  muscular  nor  mechanical,  nor  technical, 
nor  empirical, — pure,  precious,  majestic,  massy  intellect ;  not 
to  be  had  at  vulgar  price,  nor  received  without  thanks,  and 
without  asking  from  whom. 

§  vn.  Suppose,  for  instance,  we  are  present  at  the  building 
of  a  bridge  :  the  bricklayers  or  masons  have  had  their  cen- 
tring erected  for  them,  and  that  centring  was  put  together 


THE  VIRTUE!*  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


53 


by  a  carpenter,  who  had  the  line  of  its  curve  traced  for  him 
by  the  architect :  the  masons  are  dexterously  handling  and 
fitting  their  bricks,  or,  by  the  help  of  machinery,  carefully 
adjusting  stones  which  are  numbered  for  their  places.  There 
is  probably  in  their  quickness  of  eye  and  readiness  of  hand 
something  admirable  ;  but  this  is  not  what  I  ask  the  reader 
to  admire  :  not  the  carpentering,  nor  the  bricklaying,  nor 
anything  that  he  can  presently  see  and  understand,  but  the 
choice  of  the  curve,  and  the  shaping  of  the  numbered  stones, 
and  the  appointment  of  that  number  ;  there  were  many  things 
to  be  known  and  thought  upon  before  these  were  decided. 
The  man  who  chose  the  curve  and  numbered  the  stones,  had 
to  know  the  times  and  tides  of  the  river,  and  the  strength  of 
its  floods,  and  the  height  and  flow  of  them,  and  the  soil  of  the 
banks,  and  the  endurance  of  it,  and  the  weight  of  the  stones 
he  had  to  build  with,  and  the  kind  of  traffic  that  day  by  day 
would  be  earned  on  over  his  bridge, — all  this  specially,  and  all 
the  great  general  laws  of  force  and  weight,  and  their  working  ; 
and  in  the  choice  of  the  curve  and  numbering  of  stones  are 
expressed  not  only  his  knowledge  of  these,  but  such  ingenuity 
and  firmness  as  he  had,  in  applying  special  means  to  over- 
come the  special  difficulties  about  his  bridge.  There  is  no 
saying  how  much  wit,  how  much  depth  of  thought,  how  much 
fancy,  presence  of  mind,  courage,  and  fixed  resolution  there 
may  have  gone  to  the  placing  of  a  single  stone  of  it.  This  is 
what  we  have  to  admire, — this  grand  power  and  heart  of  man 
in  the  thing ;  not  his  technical  or  empirical  way  of  holding 
the  trowel  and  laying  mortar. 

§  viii.  Now  there  is  in  everything  properly  called  art  this 
concernment  of  the  intellect,  even  in  the  province  of  the  art 
which  seems  merely  practical.  For  observe  :  in  this  bridge- 
building  I  suppose  no  reference  to  architectural  principles  ; 
all  that  I  suppose  we  want  is  to  get  safely  over  the  river  ;  the 
man  who  has  taken  us  over  is  still  a  mere  bridge-builder, — a 
builder,  not  an  architect :  he  may  be  a  rough,  artless,  feeling- 
less  man,  incapable  of  doing  any  on^  truly  fine  thing  all  his 
days.  I  shall  call  upon  you  to  despise  him  presently  in  a  sort, 
but  not  as  if  he  were  a  mere  smoother  of  mortar  ;  perhaps  a 


S4 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


great  man,  infinite  in  memory,  indefatigable  in  labor,  exhaust- 
less  in  expedient,  unsurpassable  in  quickness  of  thought. 
Take  good  heed  you  understand  him  before  you  despise  him. 

§  ix.  But  why  is  he  to  be  in  anywise  despised  ?  By  no 
means  despise  him,  unless  he  happen  to  be  without  a  soul,* 
or  at  least  to  show  no  signs  of  it  ;  which  possibly  he  may  not 
in  merely  carrying  you  across  the  river.  He  may  be  merely 
what  Mr.  Carlyle  rightly  calls  a  human  beaver  after  all ;  and 
there  may  be  nothing  in  all  that  ingenuity  of  his  greater  than 
a  complication  of  animal  faculties,  an  intricate  bestiality, — 
nest  or  hive  building  in  its  highest  development.  You  need 
something  more  than  this,  or  the  man  is  despicable  ;  you 
need  that  virtue  of  building  through  which  he  may  show  his 
affections  and  delights  ;  you  need  its  beauty  or  decoration. 

§  x.  Not  that,  in  reality,  one  division  of  the  man  is  more 
human  than  another.  Theologists  fall  into  this  error  very 
fatally  and  continually  ;  and  a  man  from  whom  I  have  learned 
much,  Lord  Lindsay,  has  hurt  his  noble  book  by  it,  speaking 
as  if  the  spirit  of  the  man  only  were  immortal,  and  were  op- 
posed to  his  intellect,  and  the  latter  to  the  senses ;  whereas 
all  the  divisions  of  humanity  are  noble  or  brutal,  immortal  or 
mortal,  according  to  the  degree  of  their  sanctificatioii :  and 
there  is  no  part  of  the  man  which  is  not  immortal  and  divine 
when  it  is  once  given  to  God,  and  no  part  of  him  which  is 
not  mortal  by  the  second  death,  and  brutal  before  the  first, 
when  it  is  withdrawn  from  God.  For  to  what  shall  we  trust 
for  our  distinction  from  the  beasts  that  perish  ?  To  our 
higher  intellect  ? — yet  are  we  not  bidden  to  be  wise  as  the 
serpent,  and  to  consider  the  ways  of  the  ant? — or  to  our 
affections  ?  nay  ;  these  are  more  shared  by  the  lower  animals 
than  our  intelligence.  Hamlet  leaps  into  the  grave  of  his 
beloved,  and  leaves  it, — a  dog  had  stayed.  Humanity  and 
immortality  consist  neither  in  reason,  nor  in  love  ;  not  in  the 
body,  nor  in  the  animation  of  the  heart  of  it,  nor  in  the 
thoughts  and  stirrings  of  the  brain  of  it, — but  in  the  dedica- 
tion of  them  all  to  Him  who  will  raise  them  up  at  the  last 
day. 

*  Appendix  14,  "  Divisions  of  Humanity. " 


THE  VIRTUES  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


55 


§  xi.  It  is  not,  therefore,  that  the  signs  of  his  affections, 
which  man  leaves  upon  his  work,  are  indeed  more  ennobling 
than  the  signs  of  his  intelligence  ;  but  it  is  the  balance  of 
both  wThose  expression  we  need,  and  the  signs  of  the  govern- 
ment of  them  all  by  Conscience  ;  and  Discretion,  the  daughter 
of  Conscience.  So,  then,  the  intelligent  part  of  man  being 
eminently,  if  not  chiefly,  displayed  in  the  structure  of  his 
work,  his  affectionate  part  is  to  be  shown  in  its  decoration  ; 
and,  that  decoration  may  be  indeed  lovely,  two  things  are 
needed  :  first,  that  the  affections  be  vivid,  and  honestly  shown  ; 
secondly,  that  they  be  fixed  on  the  right  things. 

§  xu.  You  think,  perhaps,  I  have  put  the  requirements  in 
wrong  order.  Logically  I  have  ;  practically  I  have  not :  for 
it  is  necessary  first  to  teach  men  to  speak  out,  and  say  what 
they  like,  truly ;  and,  in  the  second  place,  to  teach  them 
which  of  their  likings  are  ill  set,  and  which  justly.  If  a  man 
is  cold  in  his  likings  and  dislikings,  or  if  he  will  not  tell  you 
what  he  likes,  you  can  make  nothing  of  him.  Only  get  him 
to  feel  quickly  and  to  speak  plainly,  and  you  may  set  him 
right.  And  the  fact  is,  that  the  great  evil  of  all  recent 
architectural  effort  has  not  been  that  men  liked  wrong  things : 
but  that  they  either  cared  nothing  about  any,  or  pretended 
to  like  w7hat  they  did  not.  Do  you  suppose  that  any  modern 
architect  likes  what  he  builds,  or  enjoys  it  ?  Not  in  the  least. 
He  builds  it  because  he  has  been  told  that  such  and  such 
things  are  fine,  and  that  he  should  like  them.  He  pretends 
to  like  them,  and  gives  them  a  false  relish  of  vanity.  Do  you 
seriously  imagine,  reader,  that  any  living  soul  in  London  likes 
triglyphs  ?  * — or  gets  any  hearty  enjoyment  out  of  pedi- 
ments ?  f  You  are  much  mistaken.  Greeks  did :  English 
people  never  did, — never  will.  Do  you  fancy  that  the  archi- 
tect of  old  Burlington  Mews,  in  Eegent  Street,  had  any 
particular  satisfaction  in  putting  the  blank  triangle  over  the 

*  Triglyph.  Literally,  <;  Three  Cut.''  The  awkward  upright  orna- 
ment with  two  notches  in  it,  and  a  cut  at  each  side,  to  be  seen  every- 
where at  the  tops  of  Doric  colonnades,  ancient  and  modern. 

f  Pediment.  The  triangular  space  above  Greek  porticos,  as  on  the 
Mansion  House  or  Royal  Exchange. 


56 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


archway,  instead  of  a  useful  garret  window  ?  By  no  manner 
of  means.  He  had  been  told  it  was  right  to  do  so,  and 
thought  he  should  be  admired  for  doing  it.  Very  few  faults 
of  architecture  are  mistakes  of  honest  choice  :  they  are  almost 
always  hypocrisies. 

§  xiii.  So,  then,  the  first  thing  we  have  to  ask  of  the  decora- 
tion is  that  it  should  indicate  strong  liking,  and  that  honestly. 
It  matters  not  so  much  what  the  thing  is,  as  that  the  builder 
should  really  love  it  and  enjoy  it,  and  say  so  plainly.  The 
architect  of  Bourges  Cathedral  liked  hawthorns  ;  so  he  has 
covered  his  porch  with  hawthorn, — it  is  a  perfect  Niobe  of 
May.  Never  wras  such  hawthorn  ;  you  would  try  to  gather  it 
forthwith,  but  for  fear  of  being  pricked.  The  old  Lombard 
architects  liked  hunting;  so  they  covered  their  work  with 
horses  and  hounds,  and  men  blowing  trumpets  two  yards  long. 
The  base  Renaissance  architects  of  Venice  liked  masquing 
and  fiddling  ;  so  they  covered  their  work  with  comic  masks 
and  musical  instruments.  Even  that  was  better  than  our 
English  way  of  liking  nothing-  and  professing  to  like  tri- 
glyphs. 

§  xiv.  But  the  second  requirement  in  decoration,  is  a  sign 
of  our  liking  the  right  thing.  And  the  right  thing  to  be  liked 
is  God's  work,  which  He  made  for  our  delight  and  contentment 
in  this  world.  And  all  noble  ornamentation  is  the  expression 
of  man's  delight  in  God's  work. 

§  xv.  So,  then,  these  are  the  two  virtues  of  building  :  first, 
the  signs  of  man's  own  good  work  ;  secondly,  the  expression 
of  man's  delight  in  better  work  than  his  own.  And  these  are 
the  two  virtues  of  which  I  desire  my  reader  to  be  able  quickly 
to  judge,  at  least  in  some  measure  ;  to  have  a  definite  opinion 
up  to  a  certain  point.  Beyond  a  certain  point  he  cannot  form 
one.  When  the  science  of  the  building  is  great,  great  science 
is  of  course  required  to  comprehend  it :  and,  therefore,  of 
difficult  bridges,  and  light-houses,  and  harbor  walls,  and  river 
dykes,  and  railway  tunnels,  no  judgment  may  be  rapidly 
formed.  But  of  common  buildings,  built  in  common  circum- 
stances, it  is  very  possible  for  every  man,  or  woman,  or  child, 
to  form  judgment  both  rational  and  rapid.    Their  necessary, 


THE  VIRTUES  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


51 


or  even  possible,  features  are  but  few  ;  the  laws  of  their  con- 
struction are  as  simple  as  they  are  interesting.  The  labor  of 
a  few  hours  is  enough  to  render  the  reader  master  of  their 
main  points ;  and  from  that  moment  he  will  find  in  himself  a 
power  of  judgment  which  can  neither  be  escaped  nor  deceived, 
and  discover  subjects  of  interest  where  everything  before  had 
appeared  barren.  For  though  the  laws  are  few  and  simple, 
the  modes  of  obedience  to  them  are  not  so.  Every  building 
presents  its  own  requirements  and  difficulties  ;  and  every  good 
building  has  peculiar  appliances  or  contrivances  to  meet  them. 
Understand  the  laws  of  structure,  and  }^ou  will  feel  the  special 
difficulty  in  every  new  building  which  you  approach  ;  and  you 
will  know  also,  or  feel  instinctively,*  whether  it  has  been 
wisely  met  or  otherwise.  And  an  enormous  number  of  build- 
ings, and  of  styles  of  buildings,  you  will  be  able  to  cast  aside 
at  once,  as  at  variance  with  these  constant  laws  of  structure, 
and  therefore  unnatural  and  monstrous. 

§  xvi.  Then,  as  regards  decoration,  I  want  you  only  to  con- 
sult your  own  natural  choice  and  liking.  There  is  a  right 
and  wrong  in  it ;  but  you  will  assuredly  like  the  right  if  you 
suffer  your  natural  instinct  to  lead  you.  \Half  the  evil  in  this 
world  comes  from  people  not  knowing  what  they  do  like,  not 
deliberately  setting  themselves  to  find  out  what  they  really 
enjoy.  \  All  people  enjoy  giving  away  money,  for  instance  : 
they  don't  know  that, — they  rather  think  they  like  keeping  it ; 
and  they  do  keep  it  under  this  false  impression,  often  to  their 
great  discomfort.  Every  body  likes  to  do  good  ;  but  not  one 
in  a  hundred  finds  this  out.  t  Multitudes  think  they  like  to  do 
evil ;  yet  no  man  ever  really  enjoyed  doing  evil  since  God 
made  the  world.  A 

So  in  this  lesser  matter  of  ornament.  It  needs  some  little 
care  to  try  experiments  upon  yourself :  it  needs  deliberate 
question  and  upright  answer.  But  there  is  no  difficulty  to  be 
overcome,  no  abstruse  reasoning  to  be  gone  into  ;  only  a  little 
watchfulness  needed,  and  thoughtfulness,  and  so  much  honesty 
as  will  enable  you  to  confess  to  yourself  and  to  all  men,  that 
you  enjoy  things,  though  great  authorities  say  you  should  not. 
*  Appendix  15  :  "  Instinctive  Judgments." 


58 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


§  xvii.  This  looks  somewhat  like  pride ;  but  it  is  true  hu- 
mility, a  trust  that  you  have  been  so  created  as  to  enjoy  what 
is  fitting  for  you,  and  a  willingness  to  be  pleased,  as  it  was 
intended  you  should  be.  It  is  the  child's  spirit,  which  we 
are  then  most  happy  when  we  most  recover  ;  only  wiser  than 
children  in  that  we  are  ready  to  think  it  subject  of  thankful 
ness  that  we  can  still  be  pleased  with  a  fair  color  or  a  dancing 
light.  And,  above  all,  do  not  try  to  make  all  these  pleasures 
reasonable,  nor  to  connect  the  delight  which  you  take  in 
ornament  with  that  which  you  take  in  construction  or  useful- 
ness. They  have  no  connection  ;  and  every  effort  that  you 
make  to  reason  from  one  to  the  other  will  blunt  your  sense  of 
beauty,  or  confuse  it  with  sensations  altogether  inferior  to  it. 
You  were  made  for  enjoyment,  and  the  world  was  filled  with 
things  which  you  will  enjoy,  unless  you  are  too  proud  to  be 
pleased  by  them,  or  too  grasping  to  care  for  what  you  cannot 
turn  to  other  account  than  mere  delight.  Remember  that  the 
most  beautiful  things  in  the  world  are  the  most  useless ;  pea- 
cocks and  lilies  for  instance ;  at  least  I  suppose  this  quill  I  hold 
in  my  hand  writes  better  than  a  peacock's  would,  and  the  peas- 
ants of  Vevay,  whose  fields  in  spring  time  are  as  white  with 
lilies  as  the  Dent  du  Midi  is  with  its  snow,  told  me  the  hay 
was  none  the  better  for  them. 

§  xviii.  Our  task  therefore  divides  itself  into  two  branches, 
and  these  I  shall  follow  in  succession.  I  shall  first  consider 
the  construction  of  buildings,  dividing  them  into  their  really 
necessary  members  or  features ;  and  I  shall  endeavor  so  to 
lead  the  reader  forward  from  the  foundation  upwards,  as  that 
he  may  find  out  for  himself  the  best  way  of  doing  everything, 
and  having  so  discovered  it,  never  forget  it.  I  shall  give  him 
stones,  and  bricks,  and  straw,  chisels,  and  trowels,  and  the 
ground,  and  then  ask  him  to  build  ;  only  helping  him,  as  I 
can,  if  I  find  him  puzzled.  And  when  he  has  built  his  house 
or  church,  I  shall  ask  him  to  ornament  it,  and  leave  it  to  him 
to  choose  the  ornaments  as  I  did  to  find  out  the  construction  : 
I  shall  use  no  influence  with  him  whatever,  except  to  counter- 
act previous  prejudices,  and  leave  him,  as  far  as  may  be,  free. 
And  when  he  has  thus  found  out  how  to  build,  and  chosen 


THE  SIX  DIVISIONS  OF  ARCHITECTURE.  59 


his  forms  of  decoration,  I  shall  do  what  I  can  to  confirm  his 
confidence  in  what  he  has  done.  I  shall  assure  him  that  no 
one  in  the  world  could,  so  far,  have  done  better,  and  require 
him  to  condemn,  as  futile  or  fallacious,  whatever  has  no  re- 
semblance to  his  own  performances. 


CHAPTEE  HI. 

THE  SIX  DIVISIONS  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 

§  i.  The  practical  duties  of  buildings  are  twofold. 
They  have  either  (1),  to  hold  and  protect  something  ;  or  (2), 
to  place  or  carry  something. 

1.  Architecture  of  Protection.  This  is  architecture  in- 
tended to  protect  men  or  their  possessions  from  violence 
of  any  kind,  whether  of  men  or  of  the  elements.  It  will 
include  all  churches,  houses,  and  treasuries  ;  fortresses, 
fences,  and  ramparts  ;  the  architecture  of  the  hut  and 
sheepfold  ;  of  the  palace  and  the  citadel  :  of  the  dyke, 
breakwater,  and  sea-wall.  And  the  protection,  when 
of  living  creatures,  is  to  be  understood  as  including 
commodiousness  and  comfort  of  habitation,  wherever 
these  are  possible  under  the  given  circumstances. 

2.  Architecture  of  Position.  This  is  architecture  intended 
to  carry  men  or  things  to  some  certain  places,  or  to 
hold  them  there.  This  will  include  all  bridges,  aque- 
ducts, and  road  architecture  ;  light-houses,  which  have 
to  hold  light  in  appointed  places  ;  chimneys  to  carry 
smoke  or  direct  currents  of  air ;  staircases  ;  towers, 
which  are  to  be  watched  from  or  cried  from,  as  in 
mosques,  or  to  hold  bells,  or  to  place  men  in  positions 
of  offence,  as  ancient  moveable  attacking  towers,  and 
most  fortress  towers. 

§  n.  Protective  architecture  has  to  do  one  or  all  of  three 
things  :  to  wall  a  space,  to  roof  it,  and  to  give  access  to  it?  of 


60 


THE  STORES  OF  VENICE. 


persons,  light,  and  air ;  and  it  is  therefore  to  be  considered 
under  the  three  divisions  of  walls,  roofs,  and  apertures. 

We  will  take,  first,  a  short,  general  view  of  the  connection 
of  these  members,  and  then  examine  them  in  detail :  endeav- 
oring always  to  keep  the  simplicity  of  our  first  arrangement 
in  view  ;  for  protective  architecture  has  indeed  no  other 
members  than  these,  unless  flooring  and  paving  be  con- 
sidered  architecture,  which  it  is  only  when  the  flooring  is  also 
a  roof ;  the  laying  of  the  stones  or  timbers  for  footing  being 
pavior's  or  carpenter's  work,  rather  than  architect's  ;  and,  at 
all  events,  work  respecting  the  well  or  ill  doing  of  which  we 
shall  hardly  find  much  difference  of  opinion,  except  in  points 
of  aesthetics.  We  shall  therefore  concern  ourselves  only  with 
the  construction  of  walls,  roofs,  and  apertures. 

§  in.  1.  Walls. — A  wall  is  an  even  and  united  fence, 
whether  of  wood,  earth,  stone,  or  metal.  When  meant  for 
purposes  of  mere  partition  or  enclosure,  it  remains  a  wrall 
proper  :  but  it  has  generally  also  to  sustain  a  certain  vertical 
or  lateral  pressure,  for  which  its  strength  is  at  first  increased 
by  some  general  addition  to  its  thickness ;  but  if  the  pressure 
becomes  very  great,  it  is  gathered  up  into  piers  to  resist  ver- 
tical pressure,  and  supported  by  buttresses  to  resist  lateral 
pressure. 

If  its  functions  of  partition  or  enclosure  are  continued,  to- 
gether with  that  of  resisting  vertical  pressure,  it  remains  as  a 
wall  veil  between  the  piers  into  which  it  has  been  partly 
gathered  ;  but  if  it  is  required  only  to  resist  the  vertical  or 
roof  pressure,  it  is  gathered  up  into  piers  altogether,  loses 
its  wall  character,  and  becomes  a  group  or  line  of  piers. 

On  the  other  hand,  if  the  lateral  pressure  be  slight,  it  may 
retain  its  character  of  a  wall,  being  supported  against  the 
pressure  by  buttresses  at  intervals  ;  but  if  the  lateral  pressure 
be  very  great,  it  is  supported  against  such  pressure  by  a  con- 
tinuous buttress,  loses  its  wall  character,  and  becomes  a  dyke 
or  rampart. 

§  iv.  We  shall  have  therefore  (A)  first  to  get  a  general  idea 
of  a  wall,  and  of  right  construction  of  walls ;  then  (B)  to  see 
how  this  wall  is  gathered  into  piers  ;  and  to  get  a  general  idea 


THE  SIX  DIVISIONS  OF  ARCHITECTURE.  61 


of  piers  and  the  right  construction  of  piers ;  then  (C)  to  see 
how  a  wall  is  supported  by  buttresses,  and  to  get  a  general 
idea  of  buttresses  and  the  right  construction  of  buttresses. 
This  is  surely  very  simple,  and  it  is  all  we  shall  have  to  do 
with  walls  and  their  divisions. 

§  v.  2.  Roofs. — A  roof  is  the  covering  of  a  space,  narrow  or 
wide.  It  will  be  most  conveniently  studied  by  first  consider- 
ing the  forms  in  which  it  may  be  carried  over  a  narrow  space, 
and  then  expanding  these  on  a  wide  plan  ;  only  there  is  some 


Fig.  1. 


difficulty  here  in  the  nomenclature,  for  an  arched  roof  over  a 
narrow  space  has  (I  believe)  no  name,  except  that  which  be- 
longs  properly  to  the  piece  of  stone  or  wood  composing  such 
a  roof,  namely,  lintel.  But  the  reader  will  have  no  difficulty 
in  understanding  that  he  is  first  to  consider  roofs  on  the  sec- 
tion only,  thinking  how  best  to  construct  a  narrow  bar  or  slice 
of  them,  of  whatever  form  ;  as;  for  instance,  x,  y,  or  z,  over  the 
plan  or  area  a,  Fig.  I.  Having  done  this,  let  him  imagine 
these  several  divisions,  first  moved  along  (or  set  side  by  side) 


62  THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 

over  a  rectangle,  b,  Fig.  I.,  and  then  revolved  round  a  point  (or 
crossed  at  it)  over  a  polygon,  c,  or  circle,  d,  and  he  will  have 
every  form  of  simple  roof  :  the  arched  section  giving  succes- 
sively the  vaulted  roof  and  dome,  and  the  gabled  section  giv- 
ing the  gabled  roof  and  spire. 

As  we  go  farther  into  the  subject,  we  shall  only  have  to  add 
one  or  two  forms  to  the  sections  here  given,  in  order  to  em- 
brace all  the  uncombined  roofs  in  existence  ;  and  we  shall  not 
trouble  the  reader  with  many  questions  respecting  cross-vault- 
ing, and  other  modes  of  their  combination. 

§  vi.  Now,  it  also  happens,  from  its  place  in  buildings,  that 
the  sectional  roof  over  a  narrow  space  will  need  to  be  consid- 
ered before  we  come  to  the  expanded  roof  over  a  broad  one. 
For  when  a  wall  has  been  gathered,  as  above  explained,  into 
piers,  that  it  may  better  bear  vertical  pressure,  it  is  generally 
necessary  that  it  should  be  expanded  again  at  the  top  into  a 
continuous  wall  before  it  carries  the  true  roof.  Arches  or 
lintels  are,  therefore,  thrown  from  pier  to  pier,  and  a  level 
preparation  for  carrying  the  r§al  roof  is  made  above  them. 
After  we  have  examined  the  structure  of  piers,  therefore,  we 
shall  have  to  see  how  lintels  or  arches  are  thrown  from  pier  to 
pier,  and  the  whole  prepared  for  the  superincumbent  roof ; 
this  arrangement  being  universal  in  all  good  architecture  pre- 
pared for  vertical  pressures  ;  and  we  shall  then  examine  the 
condition  of  the  great  roof  itself.  And  because  the  structure 
of  the  roof  very  often  introduces  certain  lateral  pressures  which 
have  much  to  do  with  the  placing  of  buttresses,  it  will  be  well 
to  do  all  this  before  we  examine  the  nature  of  buttresses,  and, 
therefore,  between  parts  (B)  and  (C)  of  the  above  plan,  §  iv. 
So  now  we  shall  have  to  study  :  (A)  the  construction  of  walls ; 
(B)  that  of  piers  ;  (C)  that  of  lintels  or  arches  prepared  for 
roofing  ;  (D)  that  of  roofs  proper  ;  and  (E)  that  of  buttresses. 

§  vii.  3.  Apertures. — There  must  either  be  intervals  between 
the  piers,  of  which  intervals  the  character  will  be  determined 
by  that  of  the  piers  themselves,  or  else  doors .  or  windows  in 
the  walls  proper.  And,  respecting  doors  or  windows,  we  have 
to  determine  three  things  :  first,  the  proper  shape  of  the  entire 
aperture  ;  secondly,  the  way  in  which  it  is  to  be  filled  with 


THE  WALL  BASE. 


63 


valves  or  glass  ;  and  thirdly,  the  modes  of  protecting  it  on  the 
outside,  and  fitting  appliances  of  convenience  to  it,  as  porches 
or  balconies.  And  this  will  be  our  -division  F  ;  and  if  the 
reader  will  have  the  patience  to  go  through  these  six  heads, 
which  include  every  possible  feature  of  protective  architecture, 
and  to  consider  the  simple  necessities  and  fitnesses  of  each,  1 
will  answer  for  it,  he  ^hall  never  confound  good  architecture 
with  bad  any  more.  For,  as  to  architecture  of  position,  a 
great  part  of  it  involves  necessities  of  construction  with  which 
the  spectator  cannot  become  generally  acquainted,  and  of  the 
compliance  with  which  he  is  therefore  never  expected  to  judge, 
— as  in  chimneys,  light-houses,  &c.  :  and  the  other  forms  of  it 
are  so  closely  connected  with  those  of  protective  architecture, 
that  a  few  words  in  Chap.  XIX.  respecting  staircases  and 
towers,  will  contain  all  with  which  the  reader  need  be  troubled 
on  the  subject. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE    WALL  BASE. 

§  i.  Our  first  business,  then,  is  with  Wall,  and  to  find  out 
wherein  lies  the  true  excellence  of  the  "  Wittiest  Partition." 
For  it  is  rather  strange  that,  often  as  we  speak  of  a  "  dead" 
wall,  and  that  with  considerable  disgust,  we  have  not  often, 
since  Snout's  time,  heard  of  a  living  one.  But  the  common 
epithet  of  opprobrium  is  justly  bestowed,  and  marks  a  right 
feeling.  A  wall  has  no  business  to  be  dead.  It  ought  to  have 
members  in  its  make,  and  purposes  in  its  existence,  like  an 
organized  creature,  and  to  answer  its  ends  in  a  living  and  en- 
ergetic way  ;  and  it  is  only  when  we  do  not  choose  to  put  any 
strength  nor  organization  into  it,  that  it  offends  us  by  its 
deadness.  Every  wall  ought  to  be  a  " sweet  and  lovely  wall." 
I  do  not  care  about  its  having  ears ;  but,  for  instruction  and 
exhortation,  I  would  often  have  it  to  "  hold  up  its  fingers." 
What  its  necessary  members  and  excellences  are,  it  is  our 
present  business  to  discover. 


64 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


§  ii.  A  wall  lias  been  defined  to  be  an  even  and  united  fence 
of  wood,  earth,  stone,  or  metal.  Metal  fences,  however,  sel- 
dom, if  ever,  take  the  form  of  walls,  but  of  railings  :  and,  like 
all  other  metal  constructions,  must  be  left  out  of  our  present 
investigation  ;  as  may  be  also  walls  composed  merely  of  light 
planks  or  laths  for  purposes  of  partition  or  inclosure.  Sub- 
stantial walls,  whether  of  wood  or  earth  (I  use  the  word  earth 
as  including  clay,  baked  or  unbaked,  and  stone),  have,  in  their 
perfect  form,  three  distinct  members  : — the  Foundation,  Body 
or  Veil,  and  Cornice. 

§  in.  The  foundation  is  to  the  w-all  what  the  paw  is  to  an 
animal.  It  is  a  long  foot,  wider  than  the  wall,  on  which  the 
wall  is  to  stand,  and  which  keeps  it  from  settling  into  the 
ground.  It  is  most  necessary  that  this  great  element  of  secu- 
rity should  be  visible  to  the  eye,  and  therefore  made  a  part 
of  the  structure  above  ground.  Sometimes,  indeed,  it  be- 
comes incorporated  with  the  entire  foundation  of  the  build- 
ing, a  vast  table  on  which  walls  or  piers  are  alike  set :  but 
even  then,  the  eye,  taught  by  the  reason,  requires  some  ad- 
ditional preparation  or  foot  for  the  wall,  and  the  building  is 
felt  to  be  imperfect  without  it.  This  foundation  we  shall  call 
the  Base  of  the  wall. 

§  iv.  The  body  of  the  wall  is  of  course  the  principal  mass 
of  it,  formed  of  mud  or  clay,  of  bricks  or  stones,  of  logs  or 
hewn  timber  ;  the  condition  of  structure  being,  that  it  is  of 
equal  thickness  everywhere,  below  and  above.  It  may  be 
half  a  foot  thick,  or  six  feet  thick,  or  fifty  feet  thick  ;  but  if 
of  equal  thickness  everywhere,  it  is  still  a  wall  proper  :  if  to 
its  fifty  feet  of  proper  thickness  there  be  added  so  much  as 
an  inch  of  thickness  in  particular  parts,  that  added  thickness 
is  to  be  considered  as  some  form  of  buttress  or  pier,  or  other 
appliance.* 

In  perfect  architecture,  however,  the  wralls  are  generally 

*  Many  walls  are  slightly  sloped  or  curved  towards  their  tops,  and  have 
"buttresses  added  to  them  (that  of  the  Queen's  Bench  Prison  is  a  curious 
instance  of  the  vertical  buttress  and  inclined  wall)  ;  but  in  all  such  in- 
stances the  slope  of  the  wall  is  properly  to  be  considered  a  condition  of 
incorporated  buttress. 


THE  WALL  BASE. 


65 


kept  of  moderate  thickness,  and  strengthened  by  piers  ot 
buttresses ;  and  the  part  of  the  wall  between  these,  being 
generally  intended  only  to  secure  privacy,  or  keep  out  the 
slighter  forces  of  weather,  may  be  properly  called  a  "Wall 
Veil.  I  shall  always  use  this  word  "  Veil  "  to  signify  the  even 
portion  of  a  wall,  it  being  more  expressive  than  the  term 
Body. 

§  v.  When  the  materials  with  which  this  veil  is  built  are 
yery  loose,  or  of  shapes  which  do  not  fit  well  together,  it 
sometimes  becomes  necessary,  or  at  least  adds  to  security,  to 
introduce  courses  of  more  solid  material.  Thus,  bricks  al- 
ternate with  rolled  pebbles  in  the  old  walls  of  Verona,  and 
hewn  stones  with  brick  in  its  Lombard  churches.  A  banded 
structure,  almost  a  stratification  of  the  wall,  is  thus  produced ; 
and  the  courses  of  more  solid  material  are  sometimes  deco- 
rated with  carving.  Even  when  the  wall  is  not  thus  banded 
through  its  whole  height,  it  frequently  becomes  expedient  to 
lay  a  course  of  stone,  or  at  least  of  more  carefully  chosen 
materials,  at  regular  heights  ;  and  such  belts  or  bands  we 
may  call  String  courses.  These  are  a  kind  of  epochs  in  the 
wall's  existence  ;  something  like  periods  of  rest  and  reflection 
in  human  life,  before  entering  on  a  new  career.  Or  else,  in 
the  building,  they  correspond  to  the  divisions  of  its  stories 
within,  express  its  internal  structure,  and  mark  off  some  por- 
tion of  the  ends  of  its  existence  already  attained. 

§  vi.  Finally,  on  the  top  of  the  wall  some  protection  from 
the  weather  is  necessary,  or  some  preparation  for  the  recep- 
tion of  superincumbent  weight,  called  a  coping,  or  Cornice. 
I  shall  use  the  word  Cornice  for  both  ;  for,  in  fact,  a  coping 
is  a  roof  to  the  wall  itself,  and  is  carried  by  a  small  cornice 
as  the  roof  of  the  building  by  a  large  one.  In  either  case,  the 
cornice,  small  or  large,  is  the  termination  of  the  wall's  exist- 
ence, the  accomplishment  of  its  work.  When  it  is  meant  to 
carry  some  superincumbent  weight,  the  cornice  may  be  con- 
sidered as  its  hand,  opened  to  carry  something  above  its 
head  ;  as  the  base  was  considered  its  foot :  and  the  three 
parts  should  grow  out  of  each  other  and  form  one  whole,  like 
the  root,  stalk,  and  bell  of  a  flower.  <\ 
5 


66 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


These  three  parts  we  shall  examine  in  succession ;  and> 
first,  the  Base. 

§  vn.  It  may  be  sometimes  in  our  power,  and  it  is  always 
expedient,  to  prepare  for  the  whole  building  some  settled 
foundation,  level  and  firm,  out  of  sight.  But  this  has  not 
been  clone  in  some  of  the  noblest  buildings  in  existence.  It 
cannot  always  be  done  perfectly,  except  at  enormous  expense  \ 
and,  in  reasoning  upon  the  superstructure,  we  shall  never 
suppose  it  to  be  done.  The  mind  of  the  spectator  does  not 
conceive  it  ;  and  he  estimates  the  merits  of  the  edifice  on  the 
supposition  of  its  being  built  upon  the  ground.  Even  if  there 
be  a  vast  table  land  of  foundation  elevated  for  the  whole  of 
it,  accessible  by  steps  all  around,  as  at  Pisa,  the  surface  of 
this  table  is  always  conceived  as  capable  of  yielding  somewhat 
to  superincumbent  weight,  and  generally  is  so  ;  and  we  shall 
base  all  our  arguments  on  the  widest  possible  supposition, 
that  is  to  say,  that  the  building  stands  on  a  surface  either  of 
earth,  or,  at  all  events,  capable  of  yielding  in  some  degree  to 
its  weight. 

§  vm.  Now,  let  the  reader  simply  ask  himself  how,  on  such 
a  surface,  he  would  set  about  building  a  substantial  wall, 
I  that  should  be  able  to 

bear  weight  and  to  stand 
for  ages.  He  would  as- 
suredly look  about  for 
the  largest  stones  he 
had  at  his  disposal,  and, 
rudely  levelling  the 
ground,  he  would  lay 
these  well  together  over 
a  considerably  larger 
width  than  he  required 
the  wall  to  be  (suppose 
as  at  a,  Fig.  II.),  in  ordei 
to  equalise  the  pressure 
of  the  wall  over  a  large  surface,  and  form  its  foot.  On  the 
top  of  these  he  would  perhaps  lay  a  second  tier  of  large 
stones,  b,  or  even  the  third,  c,  making  the  breadth  somewhat 


Fig.  n. 


THE  WALL  BASE. 


67 


..ess  each  time,  so  as  to  prepare  for  the  pressure  of  the  wall 
on  the  centre,  and,  naturally  or  necessarily,  using  somewhat 
smaller  stones  above  than  below  (since  we  supposed  him  to 
look  about  for  the  largest  first),  and  cutting  them  more 
neatly.  His  third  tier,  if  not  his  second,  will  probably  ap- 
pear a  sufficiently  secure  foundation  for  finer  work  ;  for  if 
the  earth  yield  at  all,  it  will  probably  yield  pretty  equally 
under  the  great  mass  of  masonry  now  knit  together  over  it. 
So  he  will  prepare  for  the  wall  itself  at  once  by  sloping  off  the 
next  tier  of  stones  to  the  right  diameter,  as  at  d.  If  there  be 
any  joints  in  this  tier  within  the  wall,  he  may  perhaps,  for 
further  security,  lay  a  binding  stone  across  them,  e,  and  then 
begin  the  work  of  the  wall  veil  itself,  whether  in  bricks  or 
stones. 

§  ix.  I  have  supposed  the  preparation  here  to  be  for  a  large 
wall,  because  such  a  preparation  will  give  us  the  best  general 
type.  But  it  is  evident  that  the  essential  features  of  the  ar- 
rangement are  only  two,  that  is  to  say,  one  tier  of  massy  work 
for  foundation,  suppose  c,  missing  the  first  two  ;  and  the  re- 
ceding tier  or  real  foot  of  the  wall,  d.  The  reader  will  find 
these  members,  though  only  of  brick,  in  most  of  the  con- 
siderable and  independent  walls  in  the  suburbs  of  London. 

§  x.  It  is  evident,  however,  that  the  general  type,  Fig.  2, 
will  be  subject  to  many  different  modifications  in  different 
circumstances.  Sometimes  the  ledges  of  the  tiers  a  and  b 
may  be  of  greater  width  ;  and  when  the  building  is  in  a 
secure  place,  and  of  finished  masonry,  these  may  be  sloped 
off  also  like  the  main  foot  d.  In  Venetian  buildings  these 
lower  ledges  are  exposed  to  the  sea,  and  therefore  left  rough 
hewn  ;  but  in  fine  work  and  in  important  positions  the  lower 
ledges  may  be  bevelled  and  decorated  like  the  upper,  or 
another  added  above  d  ;  and  all  these  parts  may  be  in  differ- 
ent proportions,  according  to  the  disposition  of  the  building 
above  them.  But  we  have  nothing  to  do  with  any  of  these 
variations  at  present,  they  being  all  more  or  less  dependent 
upon  decorative  considerations,  except  only  one  of  very  great 
importance,  that  is  to  say,  the  widening  of  the  lower  ledge 
into  a  stone  seat,  which  may  be  often  done  in  buildings  of  great 


68 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


size  with  most  beautiful  effect  :  it  looks  kind  and  hospitable, 
and  preserves  the  work  above  from  violence.  In  St.  Mark's 
at  Venice,  which  is  a  small  and  low  church,  and  needing  no 
great  foundation  for  the  wall  veils  of  it,  we  find  only  the 
three  members,  b,  e,  and  cL  Of  these  the  first  rises  about  a 
foot  above  the  pavement  of  St.  Mark's  Place,  and  forms  an 
elevated  dais  in  some  of  the  recesses  of  the  porches,  chequered 
red  and  white  ;  c  forms  a  seat  which  follows  the  line  of  the 
walls,  while  its  basic  character  is  marked  by  its  also  carrying 
certain  shafts  with  which  we  have  here  no  concern  ;  d  is  of 
white  marble  ;  and  all  are  enriched  and  decorated  in  the  sim- 
plest and  most  perfect  manner  possible,  as  we  shall  see  in 
Chap.  XXV.  And  thus  much  may  serve  to  fix  the  type  of 
wall  bases,  a  type  oftener  followed  in  real  practice  than  any 
other  we  shall  hereafter  be  enabled  to  determine  :  for  wall 
bases  of  necessity  must  be  solidly  built,  and  the  architect  is 
therefore  driven  into  the  adoption  of  the  right  form  ;  or  if 
he  deviate  from  it,  it  is  generally  in  meeting  some  necessity 
of  peculiar  circumstances,  as  in  obtaining  cellars  and  under- 
ground room,  or  in  preparing  for  some  grand  features  or  par- 
ticular parts  of  the  wall,  or  in  some  mistaken  idea  of  decora- 
tion,— into  which  errors  we  had  better  not  pursue  him  until 
we  understand  something  more  of  the  rest  of  the  building  : 
let  us  therefore  proceed  to  consider  the  wall  veil. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE    WALL  VEIL. 

§  i.  The  summer  of  the  year  1849  was  spent  by  the  writer 
in  researches  little  bearing  upon  his  present  subject,  and  con- 
nected chiefly  with  proposed  illustrations  of  the  mountain 
forms  in  the  works  of  J.  M.  W.  Turner.  But  there  are  some- 
times more  valuable  lessons  to  be  learned  in  the  school  of 
nature  than  in  that  of  Vitruvius,  and  a  fragment  of  building 
among  the  Alps  is  singularly  illustrative  of  the  chief  feature 
which  I  have  at  present  to  develop  as  necessary  to  the  per- 
fection of  the  wall  veil. 


TBE  WALL  VEIL. 


69 


It  is  a  fragment  of  some  size  ;  a  group  of  broken  walls,  one 
of  them  overhanging  ;  crowned  with  a  cornice,  nodding  some 
hundred  and  fifty  feet  over  its  massy  flank,  three  thousand 
above  its  glacier  base,  and  fourteen  thousand  above  the  sea, 
— a  wall  truly  of  some  majesty,  at  once  the  most  precipitous 
and  the  strongest  mass  in  the  whole  chain  of  the  Alps,  the 
Mont  Cervin. 

§  ii.  It  has  been  falsely  represented  as  a  peak  or  tower.  It 
is  a  vast  ridged  promontory,  connected  at  its  western  root 
with  the  Dent  d'Erin,  and  lifting  itself  like  a  rearing  horse 
with  its  face  to  the  east.  All  the  way  along  the  flank  of  it, 
for  half  a  day's  journey  on  the  Zmutt  glacier,  the  grim  black 
terraces  of  its  foundations  range  almost  without  a  break  ;  and 
the  clouds,  when  their  day's  work  is  done,  and  they  are  weary, 
lay  themselves  down  on  those  foundation  steps,  and  rest  till 
dawn,  each  with  his  leagues  of  gray  mantle  stretched  along 
the  grisly  ledge,  and  the  cornice  of  the  mighty  wall  gleaming 
in  the  moonlight,  three  thousand  feet  above. 

§  in.  The  eastern  face  of  the  promontory  is  hewn  down,  as 
if  by  the  single  sweep  of  a  sword,  from  the  crest  of  it  to  the 
base  ;  hewn  concave  and  smooth,  like  the  hollow  of  a  wave  : 
on  each  flank  of  it  there  is  set  a  buttress,  both  of  about  equal 
height,  their  heads  sloped  out  from  the  main  wall  about  seven 
hundred  feet  below  its  summit.  That  on  the  north  is  the 
most  important ;  it  is  as  sharp  as  the  frontal  angle  of  a  bas- 
tion, and  sloped  sheer  away  to  the  north-east,  throwing  out 
spur  bej^ond  spur,  until  it  terminates  in  a  long  low  curve  of 
russet  precipice,  at  whose  foot  a  great  bay  of  the  glacier  of  the 
Col  de  Cervin  lies  as  level  as  a  lake.  This  spur  is  one  of 
the  few  points  from  which  the  mass  of  the  Mont  Cervin  is  in 
anywise  approachable.  It  is  a  continuation  of  the  masonry  of 
the  mountain  itself,  and  affords  us  the  means  of  examining 
the  character  of  its  materials. 

§  iv.  Pew  architects  would  like  to  build  with  them.  The 
slope  of  the  rocks  to  the  north-west  is  covered  two  feet  deep 
with  their  ruins,  a  mass  of  loose  and  slaty  shale,  of  a  dull 
brick-red  color,  which  yields  beneath  the  foot  like  ashes,  so 
that,  in  running  down,  you  step  one  yard,  and  slide  three. 


70 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


The  rock  is  indeed  hard  beneath,  but  still  disposed  in  thin 
courses  of  these  cloven  shales,  so  finely  laid  that  they  look  in 
places  more  like  a  heap  of  crushed  autumn  leaves  than  a  rock  ; 
and  the  first  sensation  is  one  of  unmitigated  surprise,  as  if 
the  mountain  were  upheld  by  miracle  ;  but  surprise  becomes 
more  intelligent  reverence  for  the  great  builder,  when  we 
find,  in  the  middle  of  the  mass  of  these  dead  leaves,  a  course 
of  living  rock,  of  quartz  as  white  as  the  snow  that  encircles  it, 
and  harder  than  a  bed  of  steel. 

§  v.  It  is  one  only  of  a  thousand  iron  bands  that  knit  the 
strength  of  the  mighty  mountain.  Through  the  buttress  and 
the  wall  alike,  the  courses  of  its  varied  masonry  are  seen  in 
their  successive  order,  smooth  and  true  as  if  laid  by  line  and 
plummet,*  but  of  thickness  and  strength  continually  varying, 
and  with  silver  cornices  glittering  along  the  edge  of  each, 
laid  by  the  snowy  winds  and  carved  by  the  sunshine, — stain- 
less ornaments  of  the  eternal  temple,  by  which  "neither  the 
hammer  nor  the  axe,  nor  any  tool,  was  heard  while  it  was  in 
building." 

§  vi.  I  do  not,  however,  bring  this  forward  as  an  instance 
of  any  universal  law  of  natural  building  ;  there  are  solid  as 
well  as  coursed  masses  of  precipice,  but  it  is  somewhat  curious 
that  the  most  noble  cliff  in  Europe,  which  this  eastern  front 
of  the  Cervin  is,  I  believe,  without  dispute,  should  be  to  us 
an  example  of  the  utmost  possible  stability  of  precipitousness 
attained  with  materials  of  imperfect  and  variable  character ; 
and,  what  is  more,  there  are  very  few  cliffs  which  do  not  dis- 
play alternations  between  compact  and  friable  conditions  of 
their  material,  marked  in  their  contours  by  bevelled  slopes 
when  the  bricks  are  soft,  and  vertical  steps  when  they  are 
harder.  And,  although  we  are  not  hence  to  conclude  that  it  is 
well  to  introduce  courses  of  bad  materials  when  we  can  get 
perfect  material,  I  believe  we  may  conclude  with  great  cer- 
tainty that  it  is  better  and  easier  to  strengthen  a  wall  neces- 
sarily of  imperfect  substance,  as  of  brick,  by  introducing  care- 
fully laid  courses  of  stone,  than  by  adding  to  its  thickness  : 


*  On  the  eastern  side :  violently  contorted  on  the  northern  and  western, 


THE  WALL  VEIL. 


71 


and  the  first  impression  we  receive  from  the  unbroken  aspect 
of  a  wall  veil,  unless  it  be  of  hewn  stone  throughout,  is  that 
it  must  be  both  thicker  and  weaker  than  it  would  have  been, 
had  it  been  properly  coursed.  The  decorative  reasons  for 
adopting  the  coursed  arrangement,  which  we  shall  notice  here- 
after, are  so  weighty,  that  they  would  alone  be  almost  suffi- 
cient to  enforce  it ;  and  the  constructive  ones  will  apply 
universally,  except  in  the  rare  cases  in  which  the  choice  of 
perfect  or  imperfect  material  is  entirely  open  to  us,  or  where 
the  general  system  of  the  decoration  of  the  building  requires 
absolute  unity  in  its  surface. 

§  vii.  As  regards  the  arrangement  of  the  intermediate  parts 
themselves,  it  is  regulated  by  certain  conditions  of  bonding 
and  fitting  the  stones  or  bricks,  which  the  reader  need  hardly 
be  troubled  to  consider,  and  which  I  wish  that  bricklayers 
themselves  were  always  honest  enough  to  observe.  But  I 
hardly  know  whether  to  note  under  the  head  of  aesthetic  or 
constructive  law,  this  important  principle,  that  masonry  is  al- 
ways bad  which  appears  to  have  arrested  the  attention  of  the 
architect  more  than  absolute  conditions  of  strength  require. 
Nothing  is  more  contemptible  in  any  work  than  an  appearance 
of  the  slightest  desire  on  the  part  of  the  builder  to  direct  at- 
tention to  the  way  its  stones  are  put  together,  or  of  any  trouble 
taken  either  to  show  or  to  conceal  it  more  than  was  rigidly  ne- 
cessary :\it  may  sometimes,  on  the  one  hand,  be  necessary 
to  conceal  it  as  far  as  may  be,  by  delicate  and  close  fitting, 
when  the  joints  would  interfere  with  lines  of  sculpture  or  of 
mouldings ;  and  it  may  often,  on  the  other  hand,  be  de- 
lightful to  show  it,  as  it  is  delightful  in  places  to  show  the 
anatomy  even  of  the  most  delicate  human  frame  :  but  studi- 
ously to  conceal  it  is  the  error  of  vulgar  painters,  who  are 
afraid  to  show  that  their  figures  have  bones  ;  and  studiously 
to  display  it  is  the  error  of  the  base  pupils  of  Michael  Angelo, 
who  turned  heroes'  limbs  into  surgeons'  diagrams, — but  with 
less  excuse  than  theirs,  for  there  is  less  interest  in  the 
anatomy  displayed.  Exhibited  masonry  is  in  most  cases  the 
expedient  of  architects  who  do  not  know  how  to  fill  up  blank 
spaces,  and  many  a  building,  which  would  have  been  decent 


72 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


enough  if  let  alone,  has  been  scrawled  over  with  straight 
lines,  as  in  Fig.  III.,  on  exactly  the  same  principles,  and  with 
just  the  same  amount  of  intelligence  as  a  boy's  in  scrawling 
his  copy-book  when  he  cannot  write.  The  device  was  thought 
ingenious  at  one  period  of  architectural  history  ;  St.  Paul's 
and  Whitehall  are  covered  with  it,  and  ifc  is  in  this  I  imagine 

that  some  of  our  modern 
architects  suppose  the 
great  merit  of  those  build- 
ings to  consist.  There  is, 
however,  no  excuse  for 
errors  in  disposition  of 
masonry,  for  there  is  but 
one  law  upon  the  subject, 
and  that  easily  complied 
with,  to  avoid  all  affecta- 
tion and  all  unnecessary 
expense,  either  in  showing  or  concealing.  Every  one  knows  a 
building  is  built  of  separate  stones  ;  nobody  will  ever  object 
to  seeing  that  it  is  so,  but  nobody  wants  to  count  them.  The 
divisions  of  a  church  are  much  like  the  divisions  of  a  sermon  ; 
they  are  always  right  so  long  as  they  are  necessary  to  edifica- 
tion, and  always  wrong  when  they  are  thrust  upon  the  attention 
as  divisions  only.  There  may  be  neatness  in  carving  when 
there  is  richness  in  feasting  ;  but  I  have  heard  many  a  dis- 
course, and  seen  many  a  church  wall,  in  which  it  was  all  carv- 
ing and  no  meat. 


TO 

1 1  1 1  1 1 1  r1! 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE    WALL  COKNICE. 

§  i.  We  have  lastly  to  consider  the  close  of  the  wall's  exist- 
ence, or  its  cornice.  It  was  above  stated,  that  a  cornice  has 
one  of  two  offices  :  if  the  wall  have  nothing  to  carry,  the 
cornice  is  its  roof,  and  defends  it  from  the  weather  ;  if  there 
is  weight  to  be  carried  above  the  wall,  the  cornice  is  its  hand, 
and  is  expanded  to  carry  the  said  weight. 


THE  WALL  C0BN10E. 


73 


There  are  several  ways  of  roofing  or  protecting  indepen- 
dent walls,  according  to  the  means  nearest  at  hand  :  sometimes 
the  wall  has  a  true  roof  all  to  itself  ;  sometimes  it  terminates 
in  a  small  gabled  ridge,  made  of  bricks  set  slanting,  as  con- 
stantly in  the  suburbs  of  London  ;  or  of  hewn  stone,  in 
stronger  work ;  or  in  a  single  sloping  face,  inclined  to  the 
outside.  We  need  not  trouble  ourselves  at  present  about 
these  small  roofings,  which  are  merely  the  diminutions  of 
large  ones  ;  but  we  must  examine  the  important  and  constant 
member  of  the  wall  structure,  which  prepares  it  either  for 
these  small  roofs  or  for  weights  above,  and  is  its  true  cornice. 

§  ii.  The  reader  will,  perhaps,  as  heretofore,  be  kind 
enough  to  think  for  himself,  how,  having 
carried  up  his  wall  veil  as  high  as  it  may 
be  needed,  he  will  set  about  protecting 
it  from  weather,  or  preparing  it  for 
weight.  Let  him  imagine  the  top  of  the 
unfinished  wall,  as  it  would  be  seen  from 
above  with  all  the  joints,  perhaps  un- 
cemented,  or  imperfectly  filled  up  with 
cement,  open  to  the  sky ;  and  small 
broken  materials  filling  gaps  between 
large  ones,  and  leaving  cavities  ready  for 
the  rain  to  soak  into,  and  loosen  and  dis- 
solve the  cement,  and  split,  as  it  froze,  the 
whole  to  pieces.  I  am  much  mistaken  if 
his  first  impulse  would  not  be  to  take  a 
great  flat  stone  and  lay  it  on  the  top  ;  or 
rather  a  series  of  such,  side  by  side,  pro 
jecting  well  over  the  edge  of  the  wall 
veil.  If,  also,  he  proposed  to  lay  a  weight 
(as,  for  instance,  the  end  of  abeam)  on  the  wall,  he  would 
feel  at  once  that  the  pressure  of  this  beam  on,  or  rather  among, 
the  small  stones  of  the  wall  veil,  might  very  possibly  dislodge 
or  disarrange  some  of  them ;  and  the  first  impulse  would  be, 
in  this  case,  also  to  lay  a  large  flat  stone  on  the  top  of  all  to 
receive  the  beam,  or  any  other  weight,  and  distribute  it 
equally  among  the  small  stones  below,  as  at  a,  Fig.  IV. 


Fig.  IW 


74 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


§  in.  We  must  therefore  have  our  flat  stone  in  either  cases 
and  let  b,  Fig.  IV.,  be  the  section  or  side  of  it,  as  it  is  set 
across  the  wail.  Now,  evidently,  if  by  any  chance  this  weight 
happen  to  be  thrown  more  on  the  edges  of  this  stone  than 
the  centre,  there  will  be  a  chance  of  these  edges  breaking  off. 
Had  we  not  better,  therefore,  put  another  stone,  sloped  off  to 
the  wall,  beneath  the  projecting  one,  as  at  c.  But  now  our 
cornice  looks  somewhat  too  heavy  for  the  wall  ;  and  as  the 
upper  stone  is  evidently  of  needless  thickness,  we  will  thin  it 
somewhat,  and  we  have  the  form  d.  Now  observe  :  the  lower 
or  bevelled  stone  here  at  d  corresponds  to  d  in  the  base  (Fig. 
H,  page  66).  That  was  the  foot  of  the  wall ;  this  is  its  hand. 
And  the  top  stone  here,  which  is  a  constant  member  of  cor- 
nices, corresponds  to  the  under  stone  c,  in  Fig.  II.,  which  is  a 
constant  member  of  bases.  The  reader  has  no  idea  at  present 
of  the  enormous  importance  of  these  members  ;  but  as  we  shall 
have  to  refer  to  them  perpetually,  I  must  ask  him  to  compare 
them,  and  fix  their  relations  well  in  his  mind  :  and,  for  conveni- 
ence, I  shall  call  the  bevelled  or  sloping  stone,  X,  and  the  up- 
right edged  stone,  Y.  The  reader  may  remember  easily  which 
is  which  ;  for  X  is  an  intersection  of  two  slopes,  and  may  there- 
fore properly  mean  either  of  the  two  sloping  stones  ;  and  Y  is 
a  figure  with  a  perpendicular  line  and  two  slopes,  and  may 
therefore  fitly  stand  for  the  upright  stone  in  relation  to  each 
of  the  sloping  ones  ;  and  as  we  shall  have  to  say  much  more 
about  cornices  than  about  bases,  let  X  and  Y  stand  for  the 
stones  of  the  cornice,  and  Xb  and  Yb  for  those  of  the  base, 
when  distinction  is  needed. 

§  iv.  Now  the  form  at  d,  Fig.  IV.,  is  the  great  root  and 
primal  type  of  all  cornices  whatsoever.  In  order  to  see  what 
forms  may  be  developed  from  it,  let  us  take  its  profile  a  little 
larger — a,  Fig.  V.,  with  X  and  Y  duly  marked.  Now  this 
form,  being  the  root  of  all  cornices,  may  either  have  to  finish 
the  wall  and  so  keep  off  rain  ;  or,  as  so  often  stated,  to  carry 
weight.  If  the  former,  it  is  evident  that,  in  its  present  profile, 
the  rain  will  run  back  down  the  slope  of  X  ;  and  if  the  latter, 
that  the  sharp  angle  or  edge  of  X,  at  k,  may  be  a  little  too 
weak  for  its  work,  and  run  a  chance  of  giving  way.    To  avoid 


THE  WALL  CORNICE. 


75 


the  evil  in  the  first  case,  suppose  we  hollow  the  slope  of  X 
inwards,  as  at  b ;  and  to  avoid  it  in  the  second  case,  suppose 
we  strengthen  X  bj  letting  it  bulge  outwards,  as  at  c. 

§  v.  These  (b  and  c)  are  the  profiles  of  two  vast  families  of 
cornices,  springing  from  the  same  root,  which,  with  a  third 
arising  from  their  combination  (owing  its  origin  to  aesthetic 
considerations,  and  inclining  sometimes  to  the  one,  sometimes 
to  the  other),  have  been  employed,  each  on  its  third  part  of 
the  architecture  of  the  whole  world  throughout  all  ages,  and 
must  continue  to  be  so  employed  through  such  time  as  is  yet 
to  come.    We  do  not  at  present  speak  of  the  third  or  com- 


Fra.  v. 


bined  group ;  but  the  relation  of  the  two  main  branches  to 
each  other,  and  to  the  line  of  origin,  is  given  at  e,  Fig.  V.  ; 
where  the  dotted  lines  are  the  representatives  of  the  two 
families,  and  the  straight  line  of  the  root.  The  slope  of  this 
right  line,  as  well  as  the  nature  of  the  curves,  here  drawn  as 
segments  of  circles,  we  leave  undetermined  :  the  slope,  as  well 
as  the  proportion  of  the  depths  of  X  and  Y  to  each  other, 
vary  according  to  the  weight  to  be  carried,  the  strength  of  the 
stone,  the  size  of  the  cornice,  and  a  thousand  other  accidents  ; 
and  the  nature  of  the  curves  according  to  aesthetic  laws.  It  is 
in  these  infinite  fields  that  the  invention  of  the  architect  is  "\ 


76 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


permitted  to  expatiate,  but  not  in  the  alteration  of  primitive 
forms. 

§  vi.  But  to  proceed.  It  will  doubtless  appear  to  the 
reader,  that,  even  allowing  for  some  of  these  permissible  vari- 
ations in  the  curve  or  slope  or  X,  neither  the  form  at  6,  nor 
any  approximation  to  that  form,  would  be  sufficiently  under- 
cut to  keep  the  rain  from  running  back  upon  it.  This  is  true  ; 
but  we  have  to  consider  that  the  cornice,  as  the  close  of  the 
wall's  life,  is  of  all  its  features  that  which  is  best  fitted  for 
honor  and  ornament,  It  has  been  esteemed  so  by  almost  all 
builders,  and  has  been  lavishly  decorated  in  modes  hereafter 
to  be  considered.  But  it  is  evident  that,  as  it  is  high  above 
the  eye,  the  fittest  place  to  receive  the  decoration  is  the  slope 
of  X,  which  is  inclined  towards  the  spectator  ;  and  if  we  cut 
away  or  hollow  out  this  slope  more  than  we  have  done  at  6,  all 
decoration  will  be  hid  in  the  shadow.  If,  therefore,  li^e  cli- 
mate be  fine,  and  rain  of  long  continuance  not  to  be  dreaded, 
we  shall  not  hollow  the  stone  X  further,  adopting  the  curve  at 
b  merely  as  the  most  protective  in  our  power.  But  if  the  climate 
be  one  in  which  rain  is  frequent  and  dangerous,  as  in  alterna- 
tions with  frost,  we  may  be  compelled  to  consider  the  cornice 
in  a  character  distinctly  protective,  and  to  hollow  out  X  far- 
ther, so  as  to  enable  it  thoroughly  to  accomplish  its  purpose. 
A  cornice  thus  treated  loses  its  character  as  the  crown  or  honor 
of  the  wall,  takes  the  office  of  its  protector,  and  is  called  a 
deipstone.  The  dripstone  is  naturally  the  attribute  of  North- 
ern buildings,  and  therefore  especially  of  Gothic  architec- 
ture ;  the  true  cornice  is  the  attribute  of  Southern  build- 
ings, and  therefore  of  Greek  and  Italian  architecture  ;  and 
it  is  one  of  their  peculiar  beauties,  and  eminent  features  of 
superiority. 

§  vii.  Before  passing  to  the  dripstone,  however,  let  us  ex- 
amine a  little  farther  into  the  nature  of  the  true  cornice. 
We  cannot,  indeed,  render  either  of  the  forms  b  or  c,  Fig.  V., 
perfectly  protective  from  rain,  but  we  can  help  them  a  little 
in  their  duty  by  a  slight  advance  of  their  upper  ledge.  This, 
with  the  form  b,  we  can  best  manage  by  cutting  off  the  sharp 
upper  point  of  its  curve,  which  is  evidently  weak  and  useless; 


THE  WALL  CORNICE. 


77 


and  we  shall  have  the  form  /.  By  a  slight  advance  of  the 
upper  stone  c,  we  shall  have  the  parallel  form  g. 

These  two  cornices,  /  and  g,  are  characteristic  of  early 
Byzantine  work,  and  are  found  on  all  the  most  lovely  ex- 
amples of  it  in  Venice.  The  type  a  is  rarer,  but  occurs  pure 
in  the  most  exquisite  piece  of  composition  in  Venice — the 
northern  portico  of  St.  Mark's  ;  and  will  be  given  in  due 
time. 

§  vin.  Now  the  reader  has  doubtless  noticed  that  these 
forms  of  cornice  result,  from  considerations  of  fitness  and 
necessity,  far  more  neatly  and  decisively  than  the  forms  of 
the  base,  which  we  left  only  very  generally  determined.  The 
reason  is,  that  there  are  many  ways  of  building  foundations, 
and  many  good  ways,  dependent  upon  the  peculiar  accidents 
of  the  ground  and  nature  of  accessible  materials.  There  is 
also  room  to  spare  in  width,  and  a  chance  of  a  part  of  the 
arrangement  being  concealed  by  the  ground,  so  as  to  modify 
height.  But  we  have  no  room  to  spare  in  width  on  the  top 
of  a  wall,  and  all  that  we  do  must  be  thoroughly  visible  ;  and 
we  can  but  have  to  deal  with  bricks,  or  stones  of  a  certain 
degree  of  fineness,  and  not  with  mere  gravel,  or  sand,  or 
clay, — so  that  as  the  conditions  are  limited,  the  forms  become 
determined  ;  and  our  steps  will  be  more  clear  and  certain  the 
farther  we  advance.  The  sources  of  a  river  are  usually  half 
lost  among  moss  and  pebbles,  and  its  first  movements  doubt- 
ful in  direction  ;  but,  as  the  current  gathers  force,  its  banks 
are  determined,  and  its  branches  are  numbered. 

§  ix.  So  far  of  the  true  cornice  :  we  have  still  to  determine 
the  form  of  the  dripstone. 

We  go  back  to  our  primal  type  or  root  of  cornice,  a  of 
Fig.  V.  We  take  this  at  a  in  Fig.  VI.,  and  we  are  to  con- 
sider it  entirely  as  a  protection  against  rain.  Now  the  only 
way  in  which  the  rain  can  be  kept  from  running  back  on  the 
slope  of  X  is  by  a  bold  hollowing  out  of  it  upwards,  6.  But 
clearly,  by  thus  doing,  we  shall  so  weaken  the  projecting  part 
of  it  that  the  least  shock  would  break  it  at  the  neck,  c ;  we 
must  therefore  cut  the  whole  out  of  one  stone,  which  will  give 
us  the  form  d.    That  the  water  may  not  lodge  on  the  upper 


78 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


ledge  of  this,  we  had  better  round  it  oft* ;  and  it  will  better 
protect  the  joint  at  the  bottom  of  the  slope  if  we  let  the  stone 
project  over  it  in  a  roll,  cutting  the  recess  deeper  above. 
These  two  changes  are  made  in  e  :  e  is  the  type  of  dripstones  ; 
the  projecting  part  being,  however,  more  or  less  rounded  into 
lSi  approximation  to  the  shape  of  a  falcon's  beak,  and  often 


Fig.  VI. 


reaching  it  completely.  But  the  essential  part  of  the  arrange- 
ment is  the  up  and  under  cutting  of  the  curve.  Wherever 
we  find  this,  we  are  sure  that  the  climate  is  wet,  or  that  the 
builders  have  been  bred  in  a  wet  country,  and  that  the  rest  of 
the  building  will  be  prepared  for  rough  weather.  The  up 
cutting  of  the  curve  is  sometimes  all  the  distinction  between 
the  mouldings  of  far-distant  countries  and  utterly  strange 
nations. 

Fig.  VII.  representing  a  moulding  with  an  outer  and  inner 
curve,  the  latter  under-cut.    Take  the 
j  outer  line,  and  this  moulding  is  one  con- 
stant  in  Venice,  in  architecture  traceable 
/ /~    to  Arabian  types,  and  chiefly  to  the  early 
//        mosques  of  Cairo.    But  take  the  inner 
//  line  ;  it  is  a  dripstone  at  Salisbury.  In 

U  that  narrow  interval  between  the  curves 

-  *^  there  is,  when  we  read  it  rightly,  an  ex- 

pression of  another  and  mightier  curve, 
fig  vii  — ^e  orbed  sweep  of  the  earth  and  sea, 

between  the  desert  of  the  Pyramids,  and 
the  green  and  level  fields  through  which  the  clear  streams  oi 
Sarum  wind  so  slowly. 

And  so  delicate  is  the  test,  that  though  pure  cornices  are 


THE  WALL  CORNICE. 


79 


often  found  in  the  north, — borrowed  from  classical  models, — 
so  surely  as  we  find  a  true  dripstone  moulding  in  the  South, 
the  influence  of  Northern  builders  has  been  at  work  ;  and  this 
will  be  one  of  the  principal  evidences  which  I  shall  use  in  de- 
tecting* Lombard  influence  on  Arab  work  ;  for  the  true  Byzan- 
tine and  Arab  mouldings  are  all  open  to  the  sky  and  light, 
but  the  Lombards  brought  with  them  from  the  North  the  fear 
of  rain,  and  in  all  the  i     — • — — i   a  — ^ 


Salisbury  ;  e  and  /  *IG'  vm' 

from  Lisieux,  Normandy  ;  g  and  h  from  Wenlock  Abbey, 
Shropshire. 

§  x.  The  reader  is  now  master  of  all  that  he  need  know 
about  the  construction  of  the  general  wall  cornice,  fitted 
either  to  become  a  crown  of  the  wall,  or  to  carry  weight 
above.  If,  however,  the  weight  above  become  considerable, 
it  may  be  necessary  to  support  the  cornice  at  intervals  with 
brackets ;  especially  if  it  be  required  to  project  far,  as  well  as 
to  carry  weight ;  as,  for  instance,  if  there  be  a  gallery  on  top 
of  the  wall.  This  kind  of  bracket-cornice,  deep  or  shallow, 
forms  a  separate  family,  essentially  connected  with  roofs  and 
galleries  ;  for  if  there  be  no  superincumbent  weight,  it  is 
evidently  absurd  to  put  brackets  to  a  plain  cornice  or  drip- 
stone (though  this  is  sometimes  done  in  carrying  out  a  style) ; 
so  that,  as  soon  as  we  see  a  bracket  put  to  a  cornice,  it  im- 
plies, or  should  imply,  that  there  is  a  roof  or  gallery  pbove  it 
Hence  this  family  of  cornices  I  shall  consider  in  connection 
with  roofing,  calling  them  "roof   cornices,"  while  what  we 


Vin.,  is  from  a  noble 
fragment  at  Milan, 
in  the  Piazza  dei  Mer- 
canti;  b,  from  the 
Broletto  of  Como. 
Compare  them  with 


c  and  d,  both  from  6 


80 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICjE. 


have  hitherto  examined  are  proper  "  wall  cornices."  The  roof 
cornice  and  wall  cornice  are  therefore  treated  in  division  D. 

We  are  not,  however,  as  yet  nearly  ready  for  our  roof. 
We  have  only  obtained  that  which  was  to  be  the  object  of  our 
first  division  (A)  ;  we  have  got,  that  is  to  say,  a  general  idea 
of  a  wall  and  of  the  three  essential  parts  of  a  wall ;  and  we 
have  next,  it  will  be  remembered,  to  get  an  idea  of  a  pier  and 
the  essential  parts  of  a  pier,  which  were  to  be  the  subjects  of 
our  second  division  (B). 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  PIER  BASE. 

§  i.  In  §  in.  of  Chap.  III.,  it  was  stated  that  when  a  wall 
had  to  sustain  an  addition  of  vertical  pressure,  it  was  first 
fitted  to  sustain  it  by  some  addition  to  its  own  thickness  ;  but 
if  the  pressure  became  very  great,  by  being  gathered  up  into 
Piers. 

I  must  first  make  the  reader  understand  what  I  mean  by  a 
wall's  being  gathered  up.  Take  a  piece  of  tolerably  thick 
drawing-paper,  or  thin  Bristol  board,  five  or  six  inches  square. 
Set  it  on  its  edge  on  the  table,  and  put  a  small  ocfcavo  book 
on  the  edge  or  top  of  it,  and  it  will  bend  instantly.  Tear  it 
into  four  strips  all  across,  and  roll  up  each  strip  tightly.  Set 
these  rolls  on  end  on  the  table,  and  they  will  carry  the  small 
octavo  perfectly  well.  Now  the  thickness  or  substance  of  the 
paper  employed  to  carry  the  weight  is  exactly  the  same  as  it 
was  before,  only  it  is  differently  arranged,  that  is  to  say, 
"  gathered  up."  *  If  therefore  a  wall  be  gathered  up  like  the 
Bristol  board,  it  will  bear  greater  weight  than  it  would  if  it 

*  The  experiment  is  not  quite  fair  in  this  rude  fashion  ;  for  the  small 
rolls  owe  their  increase  of  strength  much  more  to  their  tubular  form  than 
their  aggregation  of  material  ;  but  if  the  paper  be  cut  up  into  small  strips, 
and  tied  together  firmly  in  three  or  four  compact  bundles,  it  will  exhibit 
increase  of  strength  enough  to  show  the  principle.  Vide,  however,  Ap« 
pendix  10,  "  Strength  of  Shafts." 


THE  PIER  BASE. 


81 


remained  a  wall  veil.  The  sticks  into  which  you  gather  it  are 
called  Piers.    A  pier  is  a  coagulated  wall. 

§  ii.  Now  you  cannot  quite  treat  the  wall  as  you  did  the 
Bristol  board,  and  twist  it  up  at  once  ;  but  let  us  see  how  you 
can  treat  it.  Let  a,  Fig.  IX.,  be  the  plan  of  a  wall  which  you 
have  made  inconveniently  and  expensively  thick,  and  which 
still  appears  to  be  slightly  too  weak  for  what  it  must  carry  i 


Fig.  IX. 


divide  it,  as  at  b,  into  equal  spaces,  a,  b,  a,  b,  &c.  Cut  out  a 
thin  slice  of  it  at  every  a  on  each  side,  and  put  the  slices  you 
cut  out  on  at  every  b  on  each  side,  and  you  will  have  the  plan 
at  b,  with  exactly  the  same  quantity  of  bricks.  But  your  wall 
is  now  so  much  concentrated,  that,  if  it  was  only  slightly  too 
weak  before,  it  will  be  stronger  now  than  it  need  be  ;  so  you 
may  spare  some  of  your  space  as  well  as  your  bricks  by  cut* 
Vol.  I. — 6 


82 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


ting  off  the  corners  of  the  thicker  parts,  as  suppose  c,  c,  c,  cx 
at  c :  and  you  have  now  a  series  of  square  piers  connected  hy 
a  wall  veil,  which,  on  less  space  and  with  less  materials,  will 
do  the  work  of  the  wall  at  a  perfectly  well. 

§  in.  I  do  not  say  how  much  may  be  cut  away  in  the  corners 
c,  c, — that  is  a  mathematical  question  with  which  we  need  not 
trouble  ourselves  :  all  that  we  need  know  is,  that  out  of  every 
slice  we  take  from  the  "  b's  "  and  put  on  at  the  "  a's,"  we  may 
keep  a  certain  percentage  of  room  and  bricks,  until,  suppos- 
ing that  we  do  not  want  the  wall  veil  for  its  own  sake,  this 
latter  is  thinned  entirely  away,  like  the  girdle  of  the  Lady  of 
Avenel,  and  finally  breaks,  and  we  have  nothing  but  a  row  of 
square  piers,  d. 

§  iv.  But  have  we  yet  arrived  at  the  form  which  will  spare 
most  room,  and  use  fewest  materials  ?  No  ;  and  to  get  farther 
we  must  apply  the  general  principle  to  our  wall,  which  is 
equally  true  in  morals  and  mathematics,  that  the  strength  of 
materials,  or  of  men,  or  of  minds,  is  always  most  available 
when  it  is  applied  as  closely  as  possible  to  a  single  point. 

Let  the  point  to  which  we  wish  the  strength  of  our  square 
piers  to  be  applied,  be  chosen.  Then  we  shall  of  course  put 
them  directly  under  it,  and  the  point  will  be  in  their  centre. 
But  now  some  of  their  materials  are  not  so  near  or  close  to 
this  point  as  others.  Those  at  the  corners  are  farther  off  than 
the  rest. 

Now,  if  every  particle  of  the  pier  be  brought  as  near  as 
possible  to  the  centre  of  it,  the  form  it  assumes  is  the  circle. 

The  circle  must  be,  therefore,  the  best  possible  form  of  plan 
for  a  pier,  from  the  beginning  of  time  to  the  end  of  it.  A  cir- 
cular pier  is  called  a  pillar  or  column,  and  all  good  archi- 
tecture adapted  to  vertical  support  is  made  up  of  pillars,  has 
always  been  so,  and  must  ever  be  so,  as  long  as  the  laws  oi 
the  universe  hold. 

The  final  condition  is  represented  at  e,  in  its  relation  to  thai 
at  d.  It  will  be  observed  that  though  each  circle  projects  a 
little  beyond  the  side  of  the  square  out  of  which  it  is  formed, 
the  space  cut  off  at  the  angles  is  greater  than  that  added  at 
the  sides ;  for,  having  our  materials  in  a  more  concentrated 


TBE  PIER  BASE. 


83 


arrangement,  we  can  afford  to  part  with  some  of  them  in  this 
last  transformation,  as  in  all  the  rest. 

§  v.  And  now,  what  have  the  base  and  the  cornice  of  the 
wall  been  doing  while  we  have  been  cutting  the  veil  to  pieces 
and  gathering  it  together  ? 

The  base  is  also  cut  to  pieces,  gathered  together,  and  be- 
comes the  base  of  the  column. 

The  cornice  is  cut  to  pieces,  gathered  together,  and  be- 
comes the  capital  of  the  column.  Do  not  be  alarmed  at  the 
new  word,  it  does  not  mean  a  new  thing  ;  a  capital  is  only  the 
cornice  of  a  column,  and  you  may,  if  you  like,  call  a  cornice 
the  capital  of  a  wall. 

We  have  now,  therefore,  to  examine  these  three  concentrated 
forms  of  the  base,  veil,  and  cornice  :  first,  the  concentrated 
base,  still  called  the  Base  of  the  column  ;  then  the  concen- 
trated veil,  called  the  Shaft  of  the  column  ;  then  the  concen- 
trated cornice,  called  the  Capital  of  the  column. 

And  first  the  Base  : — 

§  vi.  Look  back  to  the  main  type,  Fig.  II.,  page  66,  and 
apply  its  profiles  in  due  proportion  to  the  feet  of  the  pillars  at 
e  in  Fig.  IX.,  p.  81 :  If  each  step  in  Fig.  II.  were  gathered 
accurately,  the  projection  of  the  entire  circular  base  would  be 
less  in  proportion  to  its  height  than  it  is  in  Fig.  II.  ;  but  the 
approximation  to  the  result  in  Fig.  X.  is  quite  accurate  enough 
for  our  purposes.  (I  pray  the  reader  to  observe  that  I  have 
not  made  the  smallest  change,  except  this  necessary  expres- 
sion of  a  reduction  in  diameter,  in  Fig.  II.  as  it  is  applied  in 
Fig.  X.,  only  I  have  not  drawn  the  joints  of  the  stones  because 
these  would  confuse  the  outlines  of  the  bases  ;  and  I  have  not 
represented  the  rounding  of  the  shafts,  because  it  does  not 
bear  at  present  on  the  argument.)  Now  it  would  hardly  be 
convenient,  if  we  had  to  pass  between  the  pillars,  to  have  to 
squeeze  ourselves  through  one  of  those  angular  gaps  or  breches 
de  Eoland  in  Fig.  X.  Our  first  impulse  would  be  to  cut  them 
open ;  but  we  cannot  do  this,  or  our  piers  are  unsafe.  We 
have  but  one  other  resource,  to  fill  them  up  until  we  have  a 
floor  wide  enough  to  let  us  pass  easily :  this  we  may  perhaps 
obtain  at  the  first  ledge,  we  are  nearly  sure  to  get  it  at  the 


84 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


second,  and  we  may  then  obtain  access  to  the  raised  interval, 
either  by  raising  the  earth  over  the  lower  courses  of  founda- 
tion, or  by  steps  round  the  entire  building. 


Fig.  X. 

Fig.  XL  is  the  arrangement  of  Fig.  X.  so  treated. 

§  vn.  But  suppose  the  pillars  are  so  vast  that  the  lowest 
chink  in  Fig.  X.  would  be  quite  wide  enough  to  let  us  pass 
through  it.  Is  there  then  any  reason  for  filling  it  up  ?  Yes. 
It  will  be  remembered  that  in  Chap.  IV.  §  vin.  the  chief  reason 

w 


Fig.  XI. 


for  the  wide  foundation  of  the  wall  was  stated  to  be  "that  it 
might  equalise  its  pressure  over  a  large  surface  ;  "  but  when 
the  foundation  is  cut  to  pieces  as  in  Fig.  X,  the  pressure  is 
thrown  on  a  succession  of  narrowed  and  detached  spaces  of 


THE  PIER  BASE. 


85 


that  surface.  If  the  ground  is  in  some  places  more  disposed 
to  yield  than  in  others,  the  piers  in  those  places  will  sink 
more  than  the  rest,  and  this  distortion  of  the  system  will  be 
probably  of  more  importance  in  pillars  than  in  a  wall,  because 
the  adjustment  of  the  weight  above  is  more  delicate  ;  we  thus 
actually  want  the  weight  of  the  stones  between  the  pillars,  in 
order  that  the  whole  foundation  may  be  bonded  into  one, 
and  sink  together  if  it  sink  at  all :  and  the  more  massy  the 
pillars,  the  more  we  shall  need  to  fill  the  intervals  of  their 
foundations.  In  the  best  form  of  Greek  architecture,  the  in- 
tervals are  rilled  up  to  the  root  of  the  shaft,  and  the  columns 
have  no  independent  base  ;  they  stand  on  the  even  floor  of 
flieir  foundation. 

§  viii.  Such  a  structure  is  not  only  admissible,  but,  when 
jhe  column  is  of  great  thickness  in  proportion  to  its  height, 
and  the  sufficient  firmness,  either  of  the  ground  or  prepared 
floor,  is  evident,  it  is  the  best  of  all,  having  a  strange  dignity 
in  its  excessive  simplicity.  It  is,  or  ought  to  be,  connected 
in  our  minds  with  the  deep  meaning  of  primeval  memorial. 
i£  And  Jacob  took  the  stone  that  he  had  put  for  his  pillow, 
and  set  it  up  for  a  pillar."  I  do  not  fancy  that  he  put  a  base 
for  it  first.  If  you  try  to  put  a  base  to  the  rock-piers  of 
Stonehenge,  you  will  hardly  find  them  improved  ;  and  two  of 
the  most  perfect  buildings  in  the  world,  the  Parthenon  and 
Ducal  palace  of  Venice,  have  no  bases  to  their  pillars  :  the 
latter  has  them,  indeed,  to  its  upper  arcade  shafts ;  and  had 
once,  it  is  said,  a  continuous  raised  base  for  its  lower  ones  : 
but  successive  elevations  of  St.  Mark's  Place  have  covered  this 
base,  and  parts  of  the  shafts  themselves,  with  an  inundation 
of  paving  stones  ;  and  yet  the  building  is,  I  doubt  not,  as 
grand  as  ever.  Finally,  the  two  most  noble  pillars  in  Venice, 
those  brought  from  Acre,  stand  on  the  smooth  marble  surface 
of  the  Piazzetta,  with  no  independent  bases  whatever.  They 
are  rather  broken  away  beneath,  so  that  you  may  look  under 
parts  of  them,  and  stand  (not  quite  erect,  but  leaning  some- 
what) safe  by  their  own  massy  weight.  Nor  could  any  basis 
possibly  be  devised  that  would  not  spoil  them. 

§  ix.  But  it  is  otherwise  if  the  pillar  be  so  slender  as  to 


86 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


look  doubtfully  balanced.  It  would  indeed  stand  quite  as 
safely  without  an  independent  base  as  it  would  with  one  (at 
least,  unless  the  base  be  in  the  form  of  a  socket).  But  it  will 
not  appear  so  safe  to  the  eye.  And  here  for  the  first  time,  I 
have  to  express  and  apply  a  principle,  which  I  believe  the 
reader  will  at  once  grant, — that  features  necessary  to  express 
security  to  the  imagination,  are  often  as  essential  parts  of 
good  architecture  as  those  required  for  security  itself.  It  was 
said  that  the  wall  base  was  the  foot  or  paw  of  the  wall.  Ex- 
actly in  the  same  way,  and  with  clearer  analogy,  the  pier  base 
is  the  foot  or  paw  of  the  pier.  Let  us,  then,  take  a  hint  from 
nature.  A  foot  has  two  offices,  to  bear  up,  and  to  hold  firm. 
As  far  as  it  has  to  bear  up,  it  is  un cloven,  with  slight  projec- 
tion,— look  at  an  elephant's  (the  Doric  base  of  animality) ;  * 
but  as  far  as  it  has  to  hold  firm,  it  is  divided  and  clawed,  with 
wide  projections, — look  at  an  eagle's. 

§  x.  Now  observe.  In  proportion  to  the  massiness  of  the 
column,  we  require  its  foot  to  express  merely  the  power  of 
bearing  up  ;  in  fact,  it  can  do  without  a  foot,  like  the  Squire 
in  Chevy  Chase,  if  the  ground  only  be  hard  enough.  But  ii 
the  column  be  slender,  and  look  as  if  it  might  lose  its  balance, 
we  require  it  to  look  as  if  it  had  hold  of  the  ground,  or  the 
ground  hold  of  it,  it  does  not  matter  which, — some  expression 
of  claw,  prop,  or  socket.  Now  let  us  go  back  to  Fig.  XI.,  and 
take  up  one  of  the  bases  there,  in  the  state  in  which  we  lef  fc  it. 
"We  may  leave  out  the  two  lower  steps  (with  which  we  have 
nothing  more  to  do,  as  they  have  become  the  united  floor  or 
foundation  of  the  wrhole),  and,  for  the  sake  of  greater  clear- 
ness, I  shall  not  draw  the  bricks  in  the  shaft,  nor  the  flat  stone 
which  carries  them,  though  the  reader  is  to  suppose  them  re- 
maining as  drawn  in  Fig.  XI.  ;  but  I  shall  only  draw  the  shaft 
and  its  two  essential  members  of  base,  Xb  and  Yb,  as  explained 
at  p.  74,  above  :  and  now,  expressing  the  rounding  of  these 
numbers  on  a  somewhat  larger  scale,  we  have  the  profile  a> 
Fig.  XH.  ;  b,  the  perspective  appearance  of  such  a  base  seen 
from  above  ;  and  c,  the  plan  of  it. 

§  xi.  Now  I  am  quite  sure  the  reader  is  not  satisfied  of  the 
*  Appendix  17,  "  Answer  to  Mr.  Garbett." 


THE  PIER  BASE. 


87 


stability  of  this  form  as  it  is  seen  at  b  ;  nor  would  he  ever  be 
so  with  the  main  contour  of  a  circular  base.  Observe,  we  have 
taken  some  trouble  to  reduce  the  member  Yb  into  this  round 
form,  and  all  that  we  have  gained  by  so  doing,  is  this  unsatis- 
factory and  unstable  look  of  the  base  ;  of  which  the  chief 
reason  is,  that  a  circle,  unless  enclosed  by  right  lines,  has  never 
an  appearance  of  fixture,  or  definite  place,  * — we  suspect  it  of 
motion,  like  an  orb  of  heaven  ;  and  the  second  is,  that  the 


Fig.  xii. 


whole  base,  considered  as  the  foot  of  the  shaft,  has  no  grasp 
nor  hold  :  it  is  a  club-foot,  and  looks  too  blunt  for  the  limb, — 
it  wants  at  least  expansion,  if  not  division. 

§  xii.  Suppose,  then,  instead  of  taking  so  much  trouble 

*  Yet  more  so  than  any  other  figure  enclosed  by  a  curved  Hue  :  for  the 
circle,  in  its  relations  to  its  own  centre,  is  the  curve  of  greatest  stability. 
Compare  §  xx.  of  Chap.  XX. 


88 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


with  the  member  Yb,  we  save  time  and  labor,  and  leave  it  a 
square  block.  Xb  must,  however,  evidently  follow  the  pillar, 
as  its  condition  is  that  it  slope  to  the  very  base  of  the  wall  veil, 
and  of  whatever  the  wall  veil  becomes.  So  the  corners  of  Yb 
will  project  beyond  the  circle  of  Xb,  and  we  shall  have  (Fig, 
XII. )  the  profile  d,  the  perspective  appearance  e,  and  the  plan 
f.  I  am  quite  sure  the  reader  likes  e  much  better  than  he  did 
b.  The  circle  is  now  placed,  and  we  are  not  afraid  of  its  roll- 
ing away.  The  foot  has  greater  expansion,  and  we  have  saved 
labor  besides,  with  little  loss  of  space,  for  the  interval  between 
the  bases  is  just  as  great  as  it  was  before, — we  have  only  filled 
up  the  corners  of  the  squares. 

But  is  it  not  possible  to  mend  the  form  still  further? 
There  is  surely  still  an  appearance  of  separation  between  Xb 
and  Yb,  as  if  the  one  might  slip  off  the  other.  The  foot  is 
expanded  enough  ;  but  it  needs  some  expression  of  grasp  as 
well.  It  has  no  toes.  Suppose  we  were  to  put  a  spur  or 
prop  to  Xb  at  each  corner,  so  as  to  hold  it  fast  in  the  centre 
of  Yb.  We  will  do  this  in  the  simplest  possible  form.  "We 
will  have  the  spur,  or  small  buttress,  sloping  straight  from 
the  corner  of  Yb  up  to  the  top  of  Xb,  and  as  seen  from  above, 
of  the  shape  of  a  triangle.  Applying  such  spurs  in  Fig.  XII., 
we  have  the  diagonal  profile  at  g,  the  perspective  h}  and  the 
plan  i. 

§  xm.  I  am  quite  sure  the  reader  likes  this  last  base  the 
best,  and  feels  as  if  it  were  the  firmest.  But  he  must  care- 
fully distinguish  between  this  feeling  or  imagination  of  the 
eye,  and  the  real  stability  of  the  structure.  That  this  real 
stability  has  been  slightly  increased  by  the  changes  between  b 
and  /i,  in  Fig.  XII.,  is  true.  There  is  in  the  base  h  some- 
what less  chance  of  accidental  dislocation,  and  somewhat 
greater  solidity  and  weight.  But  this  very  slight  gain  of  se- 
curity is  of  no  importance  whatever  when  compared  with  the 
general  requirements  of  the  structure.  The  pillar  must  be 
perfectly  secure,  and  more  than  secure,  with  the  base  b,  or  the 
building  will  be  unsafe,  whatever  other  base  you  put  to  the 
pillar.  The  changes  are  made,  not  for  the  sake  of  the  almost 
inappreciable  increase  of  security  they  involve,  but  in  order 


THE  PIER  BASE. 


89 


to  convince  the  eye  of  the  real  security  which  the  base  b  ap- 
pears to  compromise.  This  is  especially  the  case  with  regard 
to  the  props  or  spurs,  which  are  absolutely  useless  in  reality, 
but  are  of  the  highest  importance  as  an  expression  of  safety. 
And  this  will  farther  appear  when  we  observe  that  they  have 
been  above  quite  arbitrarily  supposed  to  be  of  a  triangular 
form.  Why  triangular  ?  Why  should  not  the  spur  be  made 
wider  and  stronger,  so  as  to  occupy  the  whole  width  of  the 
angle  of  the  square,  and  to  become  a  complete  expansion  of 
Xb  to  the  edge  of  the  square  ?  Simply  because,  whatever  its 
width,  it  has,  in  reality,  no  supporting  power  whatever ;  and 
the  expression  of  support  is  greatest  where  it  assumes  a  form 
approximating  to  that  of  the  spur  or  claw  of  an  animal.  We 
shall,  however,  find  hereafter,  that  it  ought  indeed  to  be 
much  wider  than  it  is  in  Fig.  XII.,  where  it  is  narrowed  in 
order  to  make  its  structure  clearly  intelligible. 

§  xiv.  If  the  reader  chooses  to  consider  this  spur  as  an 
aesthetic  feature  altogether,  he  is  at  liberty  to  do  so,  and  to 
transfer  what  we  have  here  said  of  it  to  the  beginning  of 
Chap.  XXV.  I  think  that  its  true  place  is  here,  as  an  expres- 
sion of  safety,  and  not  a  means  of  beauty  ;  but  I  will  assume 
only,  as  established,  the  form  e  of  Fig.  XII.,  which  is  abso- 
lutely, as  a  construction,  easier,  stronger,  and  more  perfect 
than  b.  A  word  or  two  now  of  its  materials.  The  Avail  base, 
it  will  be  remembered,  was  built  of  stones  more  neatly  cut  as 
they  were  higher  in  place  ;  and  the  members,  Y  and  X,  of 
the  pier  base,  were  the  highest  members  of  the  wall  base 
gathered.  But,  exactly  in  proportion  to  this  gathering  or 
concentration  in  form,  should,  if  possible,  be  the  gathering 
or  concentration  of  substance.  For  as  the  whole  weight  of 
the  building  is  now  to  rest  upon  few  and  limited  spaces,  it  is 
of  the  greater  importance  that  it  should  be  there  received  by 
solid  masonry.  Xb  and  Yb  are  therefore,  if  possible,  to  be 
each  of  a  single  stone  ;  or,  when  the  shaft  is  small,  both  cut 
out  of  one  block,  and  especially  if  spurs  are  to  be  added  to 
Xb.  The  reader  must  not  be  angry  with  me  for  stating 
things  so  self-evident,  for  these  are  all  necessary  steps  in  the 
chain  of  argument  which  I  must  not  break.    Even  this  change 


90 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


from  detached  stones  to  a  single  block  is  not  without  signifi- 
cance ;  for  it  is  part  of  the  real  service  and  value  of  the 
member  Yb  to  provide  for  the  reception  of  the  shaft  a  sur- 
face free  from  joints  ;  and  the  eye  always  conceives  it  as  a 
firm  covering  over  all  inequalities  or  fissures  in  the  smaller 
masonry  of  the  floor. 

§  xv.  I  have  said  nothing  yet  of  the  proportion  of  the 
height  of  Yb  to  its  width,  nor  of  that  of  Yb  and  Xb  to  each 
other.  Both  depend  much  on  the  height  of  shaft,  and  are 
besides  variable  within  certain  limits,  at  the  architect's  dis- 
cretion. But  the  limits  of  the  height  of  Yb  may  be  thus  gen- 
erally stated.  If  it  looks  so  thin  as  that  the  weight  of  the 
column  above  might  break  it,  it  is  too  low ;  and  if  it  is  higher 
than  its  own  width,  it  is  too  high.  The  utmost  admissible 
height  is  that  of  a  cubic  block  ;  for  if  it  ever  become  higher 
than  it  is  wide,  it  becomes  itself  a  part  of  a  pier,  and  not  the 
base  of  one. 

§  xvi.  I  have  also  supposed  Yb,  when  expanded  from  be- 
neath Xb,  as  always  expanded  into  a  square,  and  four  spurs 
only  to  be  added  at  the  angles.  But  Yb  may  be  expanded 
into  a  pentagon,  hexagon,  or  polygon  ;  and  Xb  then  may 
have  five,  six,  or  many  spurs.  In  proportion,  however,  as  the 
sides  increase  in  number,  the  spurs  become  shorter  and  less 
energetic  in  their  effect,  and  the  square  is  in  most  cases  the 
best  form. 

§  xvii.  We  have  hitherto  conducted  the  argument  entirely 
on  the  supposition  of  the  pillars  being  numerous,  and  in  a 
range.  Suppose,  however,  that  we  require  only  a  single  pil- 
lar :  as  we  have  free  space  round  it,  there  is  no  need  to  fill  up 
the  first  ranges  of  its  foundations ;  nor  need  we  do  so  in  order 
to  equalise  pressure,  since  the  pressure  to  be  met  is  its  own 
alone.  Under  such  circumstances,  it  is  well  to  exhibit  the 
lower  tiers  of  the  foundation  as  well  as  Yb  and  Xb.  The 
noble  bases  of  the  two  granite  pillars  of  the  Piazzetta  at 
Venice  are  formed  by  the  entire  series  of  members  given  in 
Fig.  X.,  the  lower  courses  expanding  into  steps,  with  a  superb 
breadth  of  proportion  to  the  shaft.  The  member  Xb  is  of 
course  circular,  having  its  proper  decorative  mouldings,  not 


THE  PIER  BASE. 


91 


here  considered  ;  Yb  is  octagonal,  but  filled  up  into  a  square 
by  certain  curious  groups  of  figures  representing  the  trades 
of  Venice.  The  three  courses  below  are  octagonal,  with  their 
sides  set  across  the  angles  of  the  innermost  octagon,  Yb. 
The  shafts  are  15  feet  in  circumference,  and  the  lowest  octa- 
gons of  the  base  56  (7  feet  each  side). 

§  xviii.  Detached  buildings,  like  our  own  Monument,  are 
not  pillars,  but  towers  built  in  imitation  of  Pillars.  As  towers 
they  are  barbarous,  being  dark,  inconvenient,  and  unsafe, 
besides  lying,  and  pretending  to  be  what  they  are  not.  As 
shafts  they  are  barbarous,  because  they  were  designed  at  a 
time  when  the  Renaissance  architects  had  introduced  and 
forced  into  acceptance,  as  de  rigueur,  a  kind  of  columnar 
high-heeled  shoe, — a  thing  which  they  called  a  pedestal,  and 
which  is  to  a  true  base  exactly  what  a  Greek  actor's  cothurnus 
was  to  a  Greek  gentleman's  sandal.  But  the  Greek  actor 
knew  better,  I  believe,  than  to  exhibit  or  to  decorate  his  cork 
sole  ;  and,  with  shafts  as  with  heroes,  it  is  rather  better  to 
put  the  sandal  off  than  the  cothurnus  on.  There  are,  indeed, 
occasions  on  which  a  pedestal  may  be  necessary  ;  it  may  be 
better  to  raise  a  shaft  from  a  sudden  depression  of  plinth  to  a 
level  with  others,  its  companions,  by  means  of  a  pedestal, 
than  to  introduce  a  higher  shaft ;  or  it  may  be  better  to  place 
a  shaft  of  alabaster,  if  otherwise  too  short  for  our  purpose,  on 
a  pedestal,  than  to  use  a  larger  shaft  of  coarser  material ;  but 
the  pedestal  is  in  each  case  a  make-shift,  not  an  additional 
perfection.  It  may,  in  the  like  manner,  be  sometimes  con- 
venient for  men  to  walk  on  stilts,  but  not  to  keep  their  stilts 
on  as  ornamental  parts  of  dress.  The  bases  of  the  Nelson 
Column,  the  Monument,  and  the  column  of  the  Place  Ven- 
dome,  are  to  the  shafts,  exactly  what  highly  ornamented 
wooden  legs  would  be  to  human  beings. 

§  xix.  So  far  of  bases  of  detached  shafts.  As  we  do  not  yet 
know  in  wThat  manner  shafts  are  likely  to  be  grouped,  we  can 
say  nothing  of  those  of  grouped  shafts  until  we  know  more  of 
what  they  are  to  support. 

Lastly  ;  wre  have  throughout  our  reasoning  upon  the  base 
supposed  the  pier  to  be  circular.    But  circumstances  maj 


92 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


occur  to  prevent  its  being  reduced  to  this  form,  and  it  may 
remain  square  or  rectangular ;  its  base  will  then  be  simply 
the  wall  base  following  its  contour,  and  we  have  no  spurs  at 
the  angles.  Thus  much  may  serve  respecting  pier  bases  ;  we 
have  next  to  examine  the  concentration  of  the  Wall  Veil,  or 
the  Shaft. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  SHAFT. 

§  i.  We  have  seen  in  the  last  Chapter  how,  in  converting 
the  wall  into  the  square  or  cylindrical  shaft,  we  parted  at  every 
change  of  form  with  some  quantity  of  material.  In  propor- 
tion to  the  quantity  thus  surrrendered,  is  the  necessity  that 
what  we  retain  should  be  good  of  its  kind,  and  well  set  to- 
gether, since  everything  now  depends  on  it. 

It  is  clear  also  that  the  best  material,  and  the  closest  con- 
centration, is  that  of  the  natural  crystalline  rocks ;  and  that, 
by  having  reduced  our  wall  into  the  shape  of  shafts,  we  may 
be  enabled  to  avail  ourselves  of  this  better  material,  and  to 
exchange  cemented  bricks  for  crystallised  blocks  of  stone. 
Therefore,  the  general  idea  of  a  perfect  shaft  is  that  of  a  single 
stone  hewn  into  a  form  more  or  less  elongated  and  cylindrical. 
Under  this  form,  or  at  least  under  the  ruder  one  of  a  long 
stone  set  upright,  the  conception  of  true  shafts  appears  first 
to  have  occurred  to  the  human  mind ;  for  the  reader  must 
note  this  carefully,  once  for  all,  it  does  not  in  the  least  follow 
that  the  order  of  architectural  features  which  is  most  reason- 
able in  their  arrangement,  is  most  probable  in  their  invention. 
I  have  theoretically  deduced  shafts  from  walls,  but  shafts  were 
never  so  reasoned  out  in  architectural  practice.  The  man  who 
first  propped  a  thatched  roof  with  poles  was  the  discoverer  of 
their  principle ;  and  he  who  first  hewed  a  long  stone  into  a 
cylinder,  the  perfecter  of  their  practice. 

§  ii.  It  is  clearly  necessary  that  shafts  of  this  kind  (we  will 
call  them,  for  convenience,  block  shafts)  should  be  composed 


THE  SHAFT. 


93 


of  stone  not  liable  to  flaws  or  fissures  ;  and  therefore  that  we 
must  no  longer  continue  our  argument  as  if  it  were  always 
possible  to  do  what  is  to  be  done  in  the  best  way  ;  for  the 
style  of  a  national  architecture  may  evidently  depend,  in  great 
measure  upon  the  nature  of  the  rocks  of  the  country. 

Our  own  English  rocks,  .which  supply  excellent  building 
stone  from  their  thin  and  easily  divisible  beds,  are  for  the 
most  part  entirely  incapable  of  being  worked  into  shafts  of  any 
size,  except  only  the  granites  and  whinstones,  whose  hardness 
renders  them  intractable  for  ordinary  purposes  ; — and  English 
architecture  therefore  supplies  no  instances  of  the  block  shaft 
applied  on  an  extensive  scale  ;  while  the  facility  of  obtaining 
large  masses  of  marble  has  in  Greece  and  Italy  been  partly  the 
cause  of  the  adoption  of  certain  noble  types  of  architectural 
form  peculiar  to  those  countries,  or,  when  occurring  elsewhere, 
derived  from  them. 

We  have  not,  however,  in  reducing  our  walls  to  shafts,  cal- 
culated on  the  probabilities  of  our  obtaining  better  materials 
than  those  of  which  the  walls  were  built ;  and  we  shall  there- 
fore first  consider  the  form  of  shaft  which  will  be  best  when 
we  have  the  best  materials  ;  and  then  consider  how  far  we  can 
imitate,  or  how  far  it  will  be  wise  to  imitate,  this  form  with 
any  materials  we  can  obtain. 

§  in.  Now  as  I  gave  the  reader  the  ground,  and  the  stones, 
that  he  might  for  himself  find  out  how  to  build  his  wall,  I 
shall  give  him  the  block  of  marble,  and  the  chisel,  that  he  may 
himself  find  out  how  to  shape  his  column.  Let  him  suppose 
the  elongated  mass,  so  given  him,  rudely  hewn  to  the  thick- 
ness which  he  has  calculated  will  be  proportioned  to  the  wreight 
it  has  to  carry.  The  conditions  of  stability  will  require  that 
some  allowance  be  made  in  finishing  it  for  any  chance  of  slight 
disturbance  or  subsidence  of  the  ground  below,  and  that,  as 
everything  must  depend  on  the  uprightness  of  the  shaft,  as 
little  chance  should  be  left  as  possible  of  its  being  thrown  off 
its  balance.  It  will  therefore  be  prudent  to  leave  it  slightly- 
thicker  at  the  base  than  at  the  top.  This  excess  of  diameter 
at  the  base  being  determined,  the  reader  is  to  ask  himself  how 
most  easily  and  simply  to  smooth  the  column  from  one  extrem- 


94 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


ity  to  the  other.  To  cut  it  into  a  true  straight-sided  cone 
would  be  a  matter  of  much  trouble  and  nicety,  and  would  in- 
cur the  continual  risk  of  chipping  into  it  too  deep.  Why  not 
leave  some  room  for  a  chance  stroke,  work  it  slightly,  very 
slightly  convex,  and  smooth  the  curve  by  the  eye  between  the 
two  extremities  ?  you  will  save  much  trouble  and  time,  and 
the  shaft  will  be  all  the  stronger. 

This  is  accordingly  the  natural  form  of  a  detached  block 
shaft.  It  is  the  best.  No  other  will  ever  be  so  agreeable  to 
the  mind  or  eye.  I  do  not  mean  that  it  is  not  capable  of 
more  refined  execution,  or  of  the  application  of  some  of  the 


Fig.  XIII. 


laws  of  aesthetic  beauty,  but  that  it  is  the  best  recipient  of 
execution  and  subject  of  law  ;  better  in  either  case  than  if  you 
had  taken  more  pains,  and  cut  it  straight. 

§  iv.  You  will  observe,  however,  that  the  convexity  is  to  be 
very  slight,  and  that  the  shaft  is  not  to  bulge  in  the  centre, 
but  to  taper  from  the  root  in  a  curved  line  ;  the  peculiar  char- 
acter of  the  curve  you  will  discern  better  by  exaggerating,  in 
a  diagram,  the  conditions  of  its  sculpture. 

Let  a,  a,  b,  b,  at  a,  Fig.  XIII.,  be  the  rough  block  of  the 
shaft,  laid  on  the  ground  ;  and  as  thick  as  you  can  by  any 
chance  require  it  to  be  ;  you  will  leave  it  of  this  full  thickness 
at  its  base  at  a,  but  at  the  other  end  you  will  mark  off  upon  it 
the  diameter  c,  d,  which  you  intend  it  to  have  at  the  summit ; 
you  will  then  take  your  mallet  and  chisel,  and  working  from  c 


THE  SHAFT. 


95 


and  d  you  will  roughly  knock  off  the  corners  shaded  in  the 
figure,  so  as  to  reduce  the  shaft  to  the  figure  described  by  the 
inside  lines  in  a  and  the  outside  lines  in  b  ;  you  then  proceed 
to  smooth  it,  you  chisel  away  the  shaded  parts  in  b,  and  leave 
your  finished  shaft  of  the  form  of  the  inside  lines  e,  g,ft  h 

The  result  of  this  operation  will  be  of  course  that  the  shaft 
tapers  faster  towards  the  top  than  it  does  near  the  groundc 
Observe  this  carefully  ;  it  is  a  point  of  great  future  importance. 

§  v.  So  far  of  the  shape  of  detached  or  block  shafts.  We 
can  carry  the  type  no  farther  on  merely  structural  considera- 
tions :  let  us  pass  to  the  shaft  of  inferior  materials. 

Unfortunately,  in  practice,  this  step  must  be  soon  made. 
It  is  alike  difficult  to  obtain,  transport,  and  raise,  block  shafts 
more  than  ten  or  twelve  feet  long,  except  in  remarkable  posi- 
tions, and  as  pieces  of  singular  magnificence.  Large  pillars 
are  therefore  always  composed  of  more  than  one  block  of 
stone.  Such  pillars  are  either  jointed  like  basalt  columns,  and 
composed  of  solid  pieces  of  stone  set  one  above  another  ;  or 
they  are  filled  up  towers,  built  of  small  stones  cemented  into 
a  mass,  with  more  or  less  of  regularity  :  Keep  this  distinction 
carefully  in  mind,  it  is  of  great  importance  ;  for  the  jointed 
column,  every  stone  composing  which,  however  thin,  is  (so  to 
speak)  a  complete  slice  of  the  shaft,  is  just  as  strong  as  the 
block  pillar  of  one  stone,  so  long  as  no  forces  are  brought  into 
action  upon  it  which  would  have  a  tendency  to  cause  horizon- 
tal dislocation.  But  the  pillar  which  is  built  as  a  filled-up 
tower  is  of  course  liable  to  fissure  in  any  direction,  if  its 
cement  give  way. 

But,  in  either  case,  it  is  evident  that  all  constructive  reason 
of  the  curved  contour  is  at  once  destroyed.  Far  from  being 
an  easy  or  natural  procedure,  the  fitting  of  each  portion  of 
the  curve  to  its  fellow,  in  the  separate  stones,  would  require 
painful  care  and  considerable  masonic  skill ;  while,  in  the  case 
of  the  filled-up  tower,  the  curve  outwards  would  be  even 
unsafe ;  for  its  greatest  strength  (and  that  the  more  in  pro- 
portion to  its  careless  building)  lies  in  its  bark,  or  shell  of 
outside  stone ;  and  this,  if  curved  outwards,  would  at  once 
burst  outwards,  if  heavily  loaded  above. 


96 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


If,  therefore,  the  curved  outline  be  ever  retained  in  such 
shafts,  it  must  be  in  obedience  to  aesthetic  laws  only. 

§  vi.  But  farther.  Not  only  the  curvature,  but  even  the 
tapering  by  straight  lines,  would  be  somewhat  difficult  of 
execution  in  the  pieced  column.  Where,  indeed,  the  entire 
shaft  is  composed  of  four  or  five  blocks  set  one  upon  another, 
the  diameters  may  be  easily  determined  at  the  successive 
joints,  and  the  stones  chiselled  to  the  same  slope.  But  this 
becomes  sufficiently  troublesome  when  the  joints  are  numer- 
ous, so  that  the  pillar  is  like  a  pile  of  cheeses  ;  or  when  it  is 
to  be  built  of  small  and  irregular  stones.  We  should  be 
naturally  led,  in  the  one  case,  to  cut  all  the  cheeses  to  the 
same  diameter  ;  in  the  other  to  build  by  the  plumb-line  ;  and 
in  both  to  give  up  the  tapering  altogether. 

§  vii.  Farther.  Since  the  chance,  in  the  one  case,  of  hori- 
zontal dislocation,  in  the  other,  of  irregular  fissure,  is  much 
increased  by  the  composition  of  the  shaft  out  of  joints  or 
small  stones,  a  larger  bulk  of  shaft  is  required  to  carry  the 
given  weight ;  and,  cceteris  paribus,  jointed  and  cemented 
shafts  must  be  thicker  in  proportion  to  the  weight  they  carry 
than  those  which  are  of  one  block. 

We  have  here  evidently  natural  causes  of  a  very  marked 
division  in  schools  of  architecture  :  one  group  composed  of 
buildings  whose  shafts  are  either  of  a  single  stone  or  of  few 
joints  ;  the  shafts,  therefore,  being  gracefully  tapered,  and 
reduced  by  successive  experiments  to  the  narrowest  possible 
diameter  proportioned  to  the  weight  they  carry  :  and  the 
other  group  embracing  those  buildings  whose  shafts  are  of 
many  joints  or  of  small  stones ;  shafts  which  are  therefore 
not  tapered,  and  rather  thick  and  ponderous  in  proportion  to 
the  weight  they  carry  ;  the  latter  school  being  evidently  some- 
what imperfect  and  inelegant  as  compared  with  the  former. 

It  may  perhaps  appear,  also,  that  this  arrangement  of  the 
materials  in  cylindrical  shafts  at  all  would  hardly  have  sug- 
gested itself  to  a  people  who  possessed  no  large  blocks  out  of 
which  to  hew  them  ;  and  that  the  shaft  built  of  many  pieces 
is  probably  derived  from,  and  imitative  of  the  shaft  hewn 
from  few  or  from  one. 


THE  SHAFT. 


97 


§  viii.  If,  therefore,  you  take  a  good  geological  map  oi 
Europe,  and  lay  your  finger  upon  the  spots  where  volcanic 
influences  supply  either  travertin  or  marble  in  accessible  and 
available  masses,  you  will  probably  mark  the  points  where 
the  types  of  the  first  school  have  been  originated  and  devel- 
oped. If,  in  the  next  place,  you  will  mark  the  districts  where 
broken  and  rugged  basalt  or  whinstone,  or  slaty  sandstone, 
supply  materials  on  easier  terms  indeed,  but  fragmentary  and 
unmanageable,  you  will  probably  distinguish  some  of  the 
birthplaces  of  the  derivative  and  less  graceful  school.  You 
will,  in  the  first  case,  lay  your  finger  on  Psestum,  Agrigentum, 
and  Athens ;  in  the  second,  on  Durham  and  Lindisfarne. 

The  shafts  of  the  great  primal  school  are,  indeed,  in  their 
first  form,  as  massy  as  those  of  the  other,  and  the  tendency  of 
both  is  to  continual  diminution  of  their  diameters  :  but  in  the 
first  school  it  is  a  true  diminution  in  the  thickness  of  the  inde- 
pendent pier  ;  in  the  last,  it  is  an  apparent  diminution,  obtained 
by  giving  it  the  appearance  of  a  group  of  minor  piers.  The 
distinction,  however,  with  which  we  are  concerned  is  not  that 
of  slenderness,  but  of  vertical  or  curved  contour  ;  and  we  may 
note  generally  that  while  throughout  the  whole  range  of 
Northern  work,  the  perpendicular  shaft  appears  in  continually 
clearer  development,  throughout  every  group  which  has  inher- 
ited the  spirit  of  the  Greek,  the  shaft  retains  its  curved  or 
tapered  form;  and  the  occurrence  of  the  vertical  detached  shaft 
may  at  all  times,  in  European  architecture,  be  regarded  as  one 
of  the  most  important  collateral  evidences  of  Northern  influence. 

§  ix.  It  is  necessary  to  limit  this  observation  to  European 
architecture,  because  the  Egyptian  shaft  is  often  un tapered, 
like  the  Northern.  It  appears  that  the  Central  Southern,  or 
Greek  shaft,  was  tapered  or  curved  on  aesthetic  rather  than 
constructive  principles  ;  and  the  Egyptian  which  precedes, 
and  the  Northern  which  follows  it,  are  both  vertical,  the  one 
because  the  best  form  had  not  been  discovered,  the  other 
because  it  could  not  be  attained.  Both  are  in  a  certain  degree 
barbaric ;  and  both  possess  in  combination  and  in  their  orna- 
ments a  power  altogether  different  from  that  of  the  Greek 
shaft,  and  at  least  as  impressive  if  not  as  admirable. 
Vol.  1-7 


98 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


§  x.  We  have  hitherto  spoken  of  shafts  as  if  their  nunibei 
were  fixed,  and  only  their  diameter  variable  according  to  the 
weight  to  be  borne.  But  this  supposition  is  evidently  gratu- 
itous ;  for  the  same  weight  may  be  carried  either  by  many 
and  slender,  or  by  few  and  massy  shafts.  If  the  reader  will 
look  back  to  Fig.  IX.,  he  will  find  the  number  of  shafts  into 
which  the  wall  was  reduced  to  be  dependent  altogether  upon 
the  length  of  the  spaces  a,  b,  a,  b,  &a,  a  length  which  was  ar- 
bitrarily fixed.  We  are  at  liberty  to  make  these  spaces  of 
what  length  wTe  choose,  and,  in  so  doing,  to  increase  the  num- 
ber and  diminish  the  diameter  of  the  shafts,  or  vice  versa. 


§  xi.  Supposing  the  materials  are  in  each  case  to  be  of  the 
same  kind,  the  choice  is  in  great  part  at  the  architect's 
discretion,  only  there  is  a  limit  on  the  one  hand  to  the  multi- 
plication of  the  slender  shaft,  in  the  inconvenience  of  the  nar- 
rowed interval,  and  on  the  other,  to  the  enlargement  of  the 
massy  shaft,  in  the  loss  of  breadth  to  the  building.*  That  will 
be  commonly  the  best  proportion  which  is  a  natural  mean  be- 
tween the  two  limits ;  leaning  to  the  side  of  grace  or  of  gran- 
deur according  to  the  expressional  intention  of  the  work.  I 
say,  commonly  the  best,  because,  in  some  cases,  this  expres- 
sional invention  may  prevail  over  all  other  considerations,  and 
a  column  of  unnecessary  bulk  or  fantastic  slightness  be  adopted 
in  order  to  strike  the  spectator  with  awe  or  with  surprise. f 
The  architect  is,  however,  rarely  in  practice  compelled  to  use 
one  kind  of  material  only  ;  and  his  choice  lies  frequently  be- 
tween the  employment  of  a  larger  number  of  solid  and  perfect 
small  shafts,  or  a  less  number  of  pieced  and  cemented  large 
ones.  It  is  often  possible  to  obtain  from  quarries  near  at  hand, 
blocks  which  might  be  cut  into  shafts  eight  or  twelve  feet 

*  In  saying  this,  it  is  assumed  that  the  interval  is  one  which  is  to  be 
traversed  by  men  ;  and  that  a  certain  relation  of  the  shafts  and  interval? 
to  the  size  of  the  human  figure  is  therefore  necessary.  When  shafts  are 
used  in  the  upper  stories  of  buildings,  or  on  a  scale  which  ignores  all  re- 
lation to  the  human  figure,  no  such  relative  limits  exist  either  to  slender- 
ness  or  solidity. 

f  Vide  the  interesting  discussion  of  this  point  in  Mr.  Fergusson's  ac- 
count of  the  Temple  of  Karnak,  4 4  Principles  of  Beauty  in  Art,"  p.  219. 


THE  SHAFT. 


99 


long  and  four  or  five  feet  round,  when  larger  shafts  can  only 
be  obtained  in  distant  localities  ;  and  the  question  then  is  be- 
tween the  perfection  of  smaller  features  and  the  imperfection 
of  larger.  We  shall  find  numberless  instances  in  Italy  in 
which  the  first  choice  has  been  boldly,  and  I  think  most  wisely 
made  ;  and  magnificent  buildings  have  been  composed  of  sys* 
terns  of  small  but  perfect  shafts,  multiplied  and  superimposed. 
So  long  as  the  idea  of  the  symmetry  of  a  perfect  shaft 
remained  in  the  builder's  mind,  his  choice  could  hardly  be  di- 
rected otherwise,  and  the  adoption  of  the  built  and  tower-like 
shaft  appears  to  have  been  the  result  of  a  loss  of  this  sense  of 
symmetry  consequent  on  the  employment  of  intractable  ma- 
terials. 

§  xn.  But  farther :  we  have  up  to  this  point  spoken  of 
shafts  as  always  set  in  ranges,  and  at  equal  intervals  from  each 
other.  But  there  is  no  necessity  for  this  ;  and  material  dif- 
ferences may  be  made  in  their  diameters  if  two  or  more  be 
grouped  so  as  to  do  together  the  work  of  one  large  one,  and 
that  within,  or  nearly  within,  the  space  which  the  larger  one 
would  have  occupied. 

§  xin.  Let  a,  b,  c,  Fig.  XIV.,  be  three  surfaces,  of  which  b 
and  c  contain  equal  areas,  and  each  of  them  double  that  of  a  : 
then  supposing  them  all  loaded  to  the  same  height,  b  or  c 
would  receive  twice  as  much  v/eight  as  a  ;  therefore,  to  carry 
b  or  c  loaded,  we  should  need  a  shaft  of  twice  the  strength 
needed  to  carry  a.  Let  s  be  the  shaft  required  to  carry  a, 
and  S2  the  shaft  required  to  carry  b  or  c  ;  then  S  may  be  di- 
vided into  two  shafts,  or  s.,  into  four  shafts,  as  at  S3,  all  equal 
in  area  or  solid  contents  and  the  mass  a  might  be  carried 
safely  by  two  of  them,  and  the  masses  b  and  c,  each  by  four 
of  them. 

Now  if  we  put  the  single  shafts  each  under  the  centre  of 
the  mass  they  have  to  bear,  as  represented  by  the  shaded 
circles  at  a,  a2,  a3,  the  masses  la  and  c  are  both  of  them  very  ill 
supported,  and  even  b  insufficiently  ;  but  apply  the  four  and 

*  I  have  assumed  that  the  strength  of  similar  shafts  of  equal  height 
is  as  the  squares  of  their  diameters ;  which,  though  not  actually  a  cor« 
rect  expression,  is  sufficiently  so  for  all  our  present  purposes. 


100 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


the  two  shafts  as  at  b, 

b.  ,,  b2,  and  they  are  sup- 
ported satisfactorily. 
Let  the  weight  on  each 
of  the  masses  be  doub- 
led, and  the  shafts 
doubled  in  area,  then 
we  shall  have  such  ar- 
rangements as  those  at 

c,  c2,  c3 ;  and  if  again 


B 


the  shafts  and  weight 
be  doubled,  we  shall 
have  d,  d2,  dr 

§  xiv.  Now  it  will  at 
once  be  observed  that 
the  arrangement  of  the 
shafts  in  the  series  of  b 
and  c  is  always  exactly 
the  same  in  their  rela- 
tions to  each  other ; 
only  the  group  of  b  is 
set  evenly,  and  the 
group  of  c  is  set  ob- 
liquely,— the  one  car- 
rying a  square,  the 
other  a  cross. 

You  have  in  these 
two  series  the  primal 
representations  of 
shaft  arrangement  in 
the  Southern  and  Nor- 
thern schools ;  while 
the  group  b}  of  which  b2 
is  the  double,  set  even- 
ly, and  c2  the  double, 
set  obliquely,  is  com- 
mon to  both.  The  reader  will  be  surprised  to  find  how 
all  the  complex  and  varied  forms  of  shaft  arrangement  will 


Fig.  XIV. 


THE  SHAFT. 


101 


range  themselves  into  one  or  other  of  these  groups ;  and 
still  more  surprised  to  find  the  oblique  or  cross  set  system 
on  the  one  hand,  and  the  square  set  system  on  the  other, 
severally  distinctive  of  Southern  and  Northern  work.  The 
dome  of  St.  Mark's,  and  the  crossing  of  the  nave  and  tran- 
septs of  Beauvais,  are  both  carried  by  square  piers ;  but 
the  piers  of  St.  Mark's  are  set  square  to  the  walls  of  the 
church,  and  those  of  Beauvais  obliquely  to  them  :  and  this 
difference  is  even  a  more  essential  one  than  that  between 
the  smooth  surface  of  the  one  and  the  reedy  complication  of 
the  other.  The  two  squares  here  in  the  margin  (Fig.  XV.)  are 
exactly  of  the  same  size,  but  their  >v 


— from  the  shaft,  which  bears  the  Fig  xy 

building,  to  the  smallest  decora- 
tion. The  Greek  square  is  by  preference  set  evenly,  the  Gothic 
square  obliquely  ;  and  that  so  constantly,  that  wherever  we 
find  the  level  or  even  square  occurring  as  a  prevailing  form, 
either  in  plan  or  decoration,  in  early  northern  work,  there  we 
may  at  least  suspect  the  presence  of  a  southern  or  Greek  in- 
fluence ;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  wherever  the  oblique  square 
is  prominent  in  the  south,  we  may  confidently  look  for  farther 
evidence  of  the  influence  of  the  Gothic  architects.  The  rule 
must  not  of  course  be  pressed  far  when,  in  either  school,  there 
has  been  determined  search  for  every  possible  variety  of  deco- 
rative figures  ;  and  accidental  circumstances  may  reverse  the 
usual  system  in  special  cases  ;  but  the  evidence  drawn  from 
this  character  is  collaterally  of  the  highest  value,  and  the  trac- 
ing it  out  is  a  pursuit  of  singular  interest.  Thus,  the  Pisan 
Romanesque  might  in  an  instant  be  pronounced  to  have  been 
formed  under  some  measure  of  Lombardic  influence,  from  the 
oblique  squares  set  under  its  arches ;  and  in  it  we  have  the 
spirit  of  northern  Gothic  affecting  details  of  the  southern  ; — 
obliquity  of  square,  in  magnificently  shafted  Romanesque. 
At  Monza,  on  the  other  hand,  the  levelled  square  is  the  char* 


expression  is  altogether  different, 
and  in  that  difference  lies  one  of 
the  most  subtle  distinctions  be- 
tween the  Gothic  and  Greek  spirit, 


J02 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


acteristic  figure  of  the  entire  decoration  of  the  facade  of  the 
Duomo,  eminently  giving  it  southern  character ;  but  the  de- 
tails are  derived  almost  entirely  from  the  northern  Gothic. 
Here  then  we  have  southern  spirit  and  northern  detail.  Of 
the  cruciform  outline  of  the  load  of  the  shaft,  a  still  more 
positive  test  of  northern  work,  we  shall  have  more  to  say  in 
the  28th  Chapter ;  we  must  at  present  note  certain  farther 
changes  in  the  form  of  the  grouped  shaft,  which  open  the 
way  to  every  branch  of  its  endless  combinatic  m,  southern  or 
northern. 

§  xv.  1.  If  the  group  at  d3,  Fig.  XIV.,  be  taken  from  under 

its  loading,  and  have  its  centre 
filled  up,  it  will  become  a  quatre- 
foil  ;  and  it  will  represent,  in 
their  form  of  most  frequent  oc- 
currence, a  family    of  shafts, 
whose  plans  are  foiled  figures, 
trefoils,  quatrefoils,  cinquefoils, 
&c.  ;   of  which  a  trefoiled  ex- 
ample, from  the  Frari  at  Venice, 
is  the  third  in  Plate  II.,  and  a 
quatrefoil   from   Salisbury  the 
eighth.    It  is  rare,  however,  to 
find    in    Gothic  architecture 
shafts  of  this  family  composed  of 
a  large  number  of  foils,  because 
multifoiled  shafts  are  seldom  true 
grouped  shafts,  but  are  rather 
canaliculated  conditions  of  massy 
piers.     The  representatives  of 
this  family  may  be  considered 
as  the  quatrefoil  on  the  Gothic 
side  of  the  Alps  ;  and  the  Egyptian  multifoiled  shaft  on  the 
south,  approximating  to  the  general  type,  6,  Fig.  XVI. 
'    §  xvi.  Exactly  opposed  to  this  great  family  is  that  of  shafts 
which  have  concave  curves  instead  of  convex  on  each  of  their 
sides  ;  but  these  are  not,  properly  speaking,  grouped  shafts 
at  all,  and  their  proper  place  is  among  decorated  piers  ;  only 


Fig.  XVI. 


THE  SHAFT. 


103 


they  must  be  named  here  in  order  to  mark  their  exact  oppo- 
sition to  the  foiled  system.  In  their  simplest  form,  repre* 
sented  by  c,  Fig.  XVI,  they  have  no  representatives  in  good 
architecture,  being  evidently  weak  and  meagre  ;  but  approxi- 
mations to  them  exist  in  late  Gothic,  as  in  the  vile  cathedral 
of  Orleans,  and  in  modern  cast-iron  shafts.  In  their  fully  de- 
veloped form  they  are  the  Greek  Doric,  a,  Fig.  XVI,  and 
occur  in  caprices  of  the  Romanesque  and  Italian  Gothic :  d3 
Fig.  XVI,  is  from  the  Duomo  of  Monza. 

§  xvn.  2.  Between  c3  and  d3  of  Fig.  XIV.  there  may  be 
evidently  another  condition,  represented  at  6,  Plate  II,  and 
formed  by  the  insertion  of  a  central  shaft  within  the  four  ex- 
ternal ones.  This  central  shaft  we  may  suppose  to  expand  in 
proportion  to  the  weight  it  has  to  carry.  If  the  external 
shafts  expand  in  the  same  proportion,  the  entire  form  remains 
unchanged  ;  but  if  they  do  not  expand,  they  may  (1)  be 
pushed  out  by  the  expanding  shaft,  or  (2)  be  gradually  swal- 
lowed up  in  its  expansion,  as  at  4,  Plate  II.  If  they  are 
pushed  out,  they  are  removed  farther  from  each  other  by 
every  increase  of  the  central  shaft ;  and  others  may  then  be 
introduced  in  the  vacant  spaces ;  giving,  on  the  plan,  a  cen- 
tral orb  with  an  ever  increasing  host  of  satellites,  10,  Plate 
II.  ;  the  satellites  themselves  often  varying  in  size,  and  per- 
haps quitting  contact  with  the  central  shaft.  Suppose  them 
in  any  of  their  conditions  fixed,  while  the  inner  shaft  expands, 
and  they  will  be  gradually  buried  in  it,  forming  more  com- 
plicated conditions  of  4,  Plate  II.  The  combinations  are  thus 
altogether  infinite,  even  supposing  the  central  shaft  to  be  cir- 
cular only  ;  but  their  infinity  is  multiplied  by  many  other  in- 
finities when  the  central  shaft  itself  becomes  square  or  cross- 
let  on  the  section,  or  itself  multif oiled  (8,  Plate  II.)  with 
satellite  shafts  eddying  about  its  recesses  and  angles,  in  every 
possible  relation  of  attraction.  Among  these  endless  condi- 
tions of  change,  the  choice  of  the  architect  is  free,  this  only 
being  generally  noted  :  that,  as  the  whole  value  of  such  piers 
depends,  first,  upon  their  being  wisely  fitted  to  the  weight 
above  them,  and,  secondly,  upon  their  all  working  together  ° 
and  one  not  failing  the  rest,  perhaps  to  the  ruin  of  all,  he  *\ 


104 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


must  never  multiply  shafts  without  visible  cause  in  the  dispo- 
sition of  members  superimposed  :  *  and  in  his  multiplied 
group  he  should,  if  possible,  avoid  a  marked  separation  be- 
tween the  large  central  shaft  and  its  satellites  ;  for  if  this  ex- 
ist, the  satellites  will  either  appear  useless  altogether,  or  else, 
which  is  worse,  they  will  look  as  if  they  were  meant  to  keep 
the  central  shaft  together  by  wiring  or  caging  it  in  ;  like  iron 
rods  set  round  a  supple  cylinder, — a  fatal  fault  in  the  piers  of 
"Westminster  Abbey,  and,  in  a  less  degree,  in  the  noble  nave 
of  the  cathedral  of  Bourges. 

§  xviii.  While,  however,  we  have  been  thus  subdividing  or 
assembling  our  shafts,  how  far  has  it  been  possible  to  retain 
their  curved  or  tapered  outline  ?  So  long  as  they  remain  dis- 
tinct and  equal,  however  close  to  each  other,  the  independent 
curvature  may  evidently  be  retained.  But  when  once  they 
come  in  contact,  it  is  equally  evident  that  a  column,  formed 
of  shafts  touching  at  the  base  and  separate  at  the  top,  would 
appear  as  if  in  the  very  act  of  splitting  asunder.  Hence,  in  all 
the  closely  arranged  groups,  and  especially  those  with  a  cen- 
tral shaft,  the  tapering  is  sacrificed  ;  and  with  less  cause  for 
regret,  because  it  was  a  provision  against  subsidence  or  dis- 
tortion, which  cannot  now  take  place  with  the  separate  mem- 
bers of  the  group.  Evidently,  the  work,  if  safe  at  all,  must 
be  executed  with  far  greater  accuracy  and  stability  when  its 
supports  are  so  delicately  arranged,  than  would  be  implied  by 
such  precaution.  In  grouping  shafts,  therefore,  a  true  per- 
pendicular line  is,  in  nearly  all  cases,  given  to  the  pier  ;  and 
the  reader  will  anticipate  that  the  two  schools,  which  we  have 
already  found  to  be  distinguished,  the  one  by  its  perpendic- 
ular and  pieced  shafts,  and  the  other  by  its  curved  and  block 
shafts,  will  be  found  divided  also  in  their  employment  of 
grouped  shafts  ; — it  is  likely  that  the  idea  of  grouping,  how- 
ever suggested,  will  be  fully  entertained  and  acted  upon  by 
the  one,  but  hesitatingly  by  the  other  ;  and  that  we  shall  find, 
on  the  one  hand,  buildings  displaying  sometimes  massy  piers 

*  How  far  this  condition  limits  the  system  of  shaft  grouping  we  shall 
see  presently.  The  reader  must  remember,  that  we  at  present  reasoi) 
respecting  shafts  in  the  abstract  only. 


THE  SHAFT. 


105 


of  small  stones,  sometimes  clustered  piers  of  rich  complexity, 
and  on  the  other,  more  or  less  regular  succession  of  block 
shafts,  each  treated  as  entirely  independent  of  those  around  it 

§  xix.  Farther,  the  grouping  of  shafts  once  admitted,  it  is 
probable  that  the  complexity  and  richness  of  such  arrange- 
ments would  recommend  them  to  the  eye,  and  induce  their 
frequent,  even  their  unnecessary  introduction  ;  so  that  weight 
which  might  have  been  borne  by  a  single  pillar,  would  be  in 
preference  supported  by  four  or  five.  And  if  the  stone  of  the 
country,  whose  fragmentary  character  first  occasioned  the 
building  and  piecing  of  the  large  pier,  were  yet  in  beds  con- 
sistent enough  to  supply  shafts  of  very  small  diameter,  the 
strength  and  simplicity  of  such  a  construction  might  justify 
it,  as  well  as  its  grace.  The  fact,  however,  is  that  the  charm 
which  the  multiplication  of  line  possesses  for  the  eye  has 
always  been  one  of  the  chief  ends  of  the  work  in  the  grouped 
schools  ;  and  that,  so  far  from  employing  the  grouped  piers 
in  order  to  the  introduction  of  very  slender  block  shafts,  the 
most  common  form  in  which  such  piers  occur  is  that  of  a  solid 
jointed  shaft,  each  joint  being  separately  cut  into  the  contour 
of  the  group  required. 

§  xx.  We  have  hitherto  supposed  that  all  grouped  or  clus- 
tered shafts  have  been  the  result  or  the  expression  of  an  actual 
gathering  and  binding  together  of  detached  shafts.  This  is 
not,  however,  always  so  :  for  some  clustered  shafts  are  little 
more  than  solid  piers  channelled  on  the  surface,  and  their  form 
appears  to  be  merely  the  development  of  some  longitudinal 
furrowing  or  striation  on  the  original  single  shaft.  That  clus- 
tering or  striation,  whichever  we  choose  to  call  it,  is  in  this 
case  a  decorative  feature,  and  to  be  considered  under  the  head 
of  decoration. 

§  xxi.  It  must  be  evident  to  the  reader  at  a  glance,  that  the 
real  serviceableness  of  any  of  these  grouped  arrangements 
must  depend  upon  the  relative  shortness  of  the  shafts,  and 
that,  when  the  whole  pier  is  so  lofty  that  its  minor  members 
become  mere  reeds  or  rods  of  stone,  those  minor  members 
can  no  longer  be  charged  with  any  considerable  weight.  And 
the  fact  is,  that  in  the  most  complicated  Gothic  arrangements,  ^ 


106 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


when  the  pier  is  tall  and  its  satellites  stand  clear  of  it,  no  real 
work  is  given  them  to  do,  and  they  might  all  be  removed 
without  endangering  the  building.  They  are  merely  the  ex- 
pression of  a  great  consistent  system,  and  are  in  architecture 
what  is  often  found  in  animal  anatomy, — a  bone,  or  process 
of  a  bone,  useless,  under  the  ordained  circumstances  of  its  life 
to  the  particular  animal  in  which  it  is  found,  and  slightly  de 
veloped,  but  }^et  distinctly  existent,  and  representing,  for  the 
sake  of  absolute  consistency,  the  same  bone  in  its  appointed, 
and  generally  useful,  place,  either  in  skeletons  of  all  animals, 
or  in  the  genus  to  which  the  animal  itself  belongs. 

§  xxii.  Farther  :  as  it  is  not  easy  to  obtain  pieces  of  stone 
long  enough  for  these  supplementary  shafts  (especially  as  it  is 
always  unsafe  to  lay  a  stratified  stone  with  its  beds  upright), 
they  have  been  frequently  composed  of  two  or  more  short 
shafts  set  upon  each  other,  and  to  conceal  the  unsightly  junc- 
tion, a  flat  stone  has  been  interposed,  carved  into  certain 
mouldings,  which  have  the  appearance  of  a  ring  on  the  shaft. 
Now  observe  :  the  whole  pier  was  the  gathering  of  the  whole 
wall,  the  base  gathers  into  base,  the  veil  into  the  shaft,  and 
the  string  courses  of  the  veil  gather  into  these  rings ;  and 
when  this  is  clearly  expressed,  and  the  rings  do  indeed  corre- 
spond with  the  string  courses  of  the  wall  veil,  they  are  per- 
fectly admissible  and  even  beautiful ;  but  otherwise,  and  oc- 
curring, as  they  do  in  the  shafts  of  Westminster,  in  the 
middle  of  continuous  lines,  they  are  but  sorry  make-shifts, 
and  of  late  since  gas  has  been  invented,  have  become  espec- 
ially offensive  from  their  unlucky  resemblance  to  the  joints  of 
gas-pipes,  or  common  water-pipes.  There  are  two  leaden 
ones,  for  instance,  on  the  left  hand  as  one  enters  the  abbey  at 
Poet's  Corner,  with  their  solderings  and  funnels  looking  ex- 
actly like  rings  and  capitals,  and  most  disrespectfully  mimick- 
ing the  shafts  of  the  abbey,  inside. 

Thus  far  we  have  traced  the  probable  conditions  of  shaft 
structure  in  pure  theory  ;  I  shall  now  lay  before  the  reader 
a  brief  statement  of  the  facts  of  the  thing  in  time  past  and 
present. 

§  xxiil  In  the  earliest  and  grandest  shaft  architecture  which 


THE  SHAFT. 


107 


we  know,  that  of  Egypt,  we  have  no  grouped  arrangements, 
properly  so  called,  but  either  single  and  smooth  shafts,  or 
richly  reeded  and  furrowed  shafts,  which  represent  the  ex- 
treme conditions  of  a  complicated  group  hound  together  to 
sustain  a  single  mass  ;  and  are  indeed,  without  doubt,  nothing 
"  else  than  imitations  of  bundles  of  reeds,  or  of  clusters  of  lo« 
tus  :  *  but  in  these  shafts  there  is  merely  the  idea  of  a  group, 
not  the  actual  function  or  structure  of  a  group  ;  they  are  just 
as  much  solid  and  simple  shafts  as  those  which  are  smooth, 
and  merely  by  the  method  of  their  decoration  present  to  the 
eye  the  image  of  a  richly  complex  arrangement. 

§  xxiv.  After  these  we  have  the  Greek  shaft,  less  in  scale, 
and  losing  all  suggestion  or  purpose  of  suggestion  of  complex- 
ity, its  so-called  flutings  being,  visibly  as  actually,  an  external 
decoration. 

§  xxv.  The  idea  of  the  shaft  remains  absolutely  single  in 
the  Roman  and  Byzantine  mind  ;  but  true  grouping  begins  in 
Christian  architecture  by  the  placing  of  two  or  more  separate 
shafts  side  by  side,  each  having  its  own  work  to  do  ;  then 
three  or  four,  still  with  separate  work  ;  then,  by  such  steps  as 
those  above  theoretically  pursued,  the  number  of  the  mem- 
bers increases,  while  they  coagulate  into  a  single  mass  ;  and 
we  have  finally  a  shaft  apparently  composed  of  thirty,  forty, 
fifty,  or  more  distinct  members  ;  a  shaft  which,  in  the  reality 
of  its  service,  is  as  much  a  single  shaft  as  the  old  Egyptian 
one  ;  but  which  differs  from  the  Egyptian  in  that  all  its  mem- 
bers, how  many  soever,  have  each  individual  work  to  do,  and 
a  separate  rib  of  arch  or  roof  to  carry :  and  thus  the  great 
Christian  truth  of  distinct  services  of  the  individual  soul  is 
typified  in  the  Christian  shaft ;  and  the  old  Egyptian  servi- 
tude of  the  multitudes,  the  servitude  inseparable  from  the 
children  of  Ham,  is  typified  also  in  that  ancient  shaft  of  the 
Egyptians,  which  in  its  gathered  strength  of  the  river  reeds^ 
seems,  as  the  sands  of  the  desert  drift  over  its  ruin,  to  be  in- 
tended to  remind  us  for  ever  of  the  end  of  the  association  of 

*  The  capitals  being  formed  by  the  flowers,  or  by  a  representation  ot 
the  bulging  oat  of  the  reeds  at  the  top,  under  the  weight  of  the  archi- 
trave. 


108 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


the  wicked.  u  Can  the  rush  grow  up  without  mire,  or  the 
flag  grow  without  water  ? — So  are  the  paths  of  all  that  forget 
God  ;  and  the  hypocrite's  hope  shall  perish." 

§  xxvi.  Let  the  reader  then  keep  this  distinction  of  the 
three  systems  clearly  in  his  mind  :  Egyptian  system,  an  ap- 
parent cluster  supporting  a  simple  capital  and  single  weight ; 
Greek  and  Roman  system,  single  shaft,  single  weight ;  Gothic 
system,  divided  shafts,  divided  weight  :  at  first  actually  and 
simply  divided,  at  last  apparently  and  infinitely  divided  ;  so 
that  the  fully  formed  Gothic  shaft  is  a  return  to  the  Egyp- 
tian, but  the  weight  is  divided  in  the  one  and  undivided  in 
the  other. 

§  xxvii.  The  transition  from  the  actual  to  the  apparent 
cluster,  in  the  Gothic,  is  a  question  of  the  most  curious  in- 
terest ;  I  have  thrown  together  the  shaft  sections  in  Plate  II. 
to  illustrate  it,  and  exemplifjr  what  has  been  generally  stated 
above.* 

1.  The  earliest,  the  most  frequent,  perhaps  the  most  beau- 
tiful of  all  the  groups,  is  also  the  simplest  ;  the  two  shafts  ar- 
ranged as  at  b  or  c,  (Fig.  XIV.)  above,  bearing  an  oblong 
mass,  and  substituted  for  the  e-till  "earlier  structure  a,  Fig.  XIV. 
In  Plate  XVII.  (Chap,  XXVII.)  are  three  examples  of  the  tran- 
sition :  the  one  on  the  left,  at  the  top,  is  the  earliest  single- 
shafted  arrangement,  constant  in  the  rough  Romanesque  win- 
dows ;  a  huge  hammer-shaped  capital  being  employed  to 
sustain  the  thickness  of  the  wall.  It  was  rapidly  superseded 
by  the  double  shaft,  as  on  the  right  of  it ;  a  very  early  example 
from  the  cloisters  of  the  Duomo,  Verona.  Beneath,  is  a  most 
elaborate  and  perfect  one  from  St.  Zeno  of  Verona,  where  the 
group  is  twice  complicated,  two  shafts  being  used,  both  with 
quatrefoil  sections.  The  plain  double  shaft,  however,  is  by 
far  the  most  frequent,  both  in  the  Northern  and  Southern 
Gothic,  but  for  the  most  part  early  ;  it  is  very  frequent  in 
cloisters,  and  in  the  singular  one  of  St.  Michael's  Mount,  Nor- 

*  I  have  not  been  at  the  pains  to  draw  the  complicated  piers  in  this 
plate  with  absolute  exactitude  to  the  scale  of  each:  they  are  accurate 
enough  for  their  purpose  :  those  of  them  respecting  which  we  shall  hav& 
farther  question  will  be  given  on  a  much  larger  scale. 


Plate  II.— Plans  of  Piers. 


THE  SHAFT. 


109 


mandy,  a  small  pseudo-arcade  runs  along  between  the  pairs  of 
shafts,  a  miniature  aisle.  The  group  is  employed  on  a  mag- 
nificent scale,  but  ill  proportioned,  for  the  main  piers  of  the 
apse  of  the  cathedral  of  Coutances,  its  purpose  being  to  con. 
ceal  one  shaft  behind  the  other,  and  make  it  appear  to  the 
spectator  from  the  nave  as  if  the  apse  were  sustained  by  sin- 
gle shafts,  of  inordinate  slenderness.  The  attempt  is  ill 
judged,  and  the  result  unsatisfactory. 

§  xxviii.  2.  When  these  pairs  of  shafts  come  near  each 
other,  as  frequently  at  the  turnings  of  angles  (Fig.  XVII.),  the 


quadruple  group  results,  b  2,  Fig.  XIV.,  of  which 
the  Lombardic  sculptors  were  excessively  fond, 
usually  tying  the  shafts  together  in  their  centre, 
in  a  lover's  knot.  They  thus  occur  in  Plate  V., 
Fig.  xvni. 


@ 


®  © 

Fig.  XVII. 

St.  Mark's, 
have  never 


from  the  Broletto  of  Como  ;  at  the 
angle  of  St.  Michele  of  Lucca,  Plate 
XXI.  ;  and  in  the  balustrade  of 
This  is  a  group,  however,  which  I 
seen  used  on  a  large  scale.* 

§  xxix.  3.  Such  groups,  consolidated  by  a 
small  square  in  their  centre,  form  the  shafts  of 
St.  Zeno,  just  spoken  of,  and  figured  in  Plate 
XVII.,  which  are  among  the  most  interesting 
pieces  of  wrork  I  know  in  Italy.  I  give  their 
entire  arrangement  in  Fig.  XVIII.  :  both  shafts 
have  the  same  section,  but  one  receives  a  half 
turn  as  it  ascends,  giving  it  an  exquisite  spiral 
contour  :  the  plan  of  their  bases,  with  their 
plinth,  is  given  at  2,  Plate  II.  ;  and  note  it  care- 
fully, for  it  is  an  epitome  of  all  that  we  observed 
above,  respecting  the  oblique  and  even  square. 
It  was  asserted  that  the  oblique  belonged  to  the  north,  the 
even  to  the  south  :  we  have  here  the  northern  Lombardic 
nation  naturalised  in  Italy,  and,  behold,  the  oblique  and  even 
quatrefoil  linked  together  ;  not  confused,  but  actually  linked 
by  a  bar  of  stone,  as  seen  in  Plate  XVII.,  under  the  capitals. 

*  The  largest  I  remember  support  a  monument  in  St.  Zeno  of  Verona } 
they  are  of  red  marble,  some  ten  or  twelve  feet  high. 


Fig.  XVIII. 


110 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


4.  Next  to  these,  observe  the  two  groups  of  five  shafts  each, 
5  and  6,  Plate  II.,  one  oblique,  the  other  even.  Both  are 
from  upper  stories ;  the  oblique  one  from  the  triforium  of 
Salisbury  ;  the  even  one  from  the  upper  range  of  shafts  in  the 
fajacte  of  St.  Mark's  at  Venice.* 

§  xxx.  Around  these  central  types  are  grouped,  in  Plate  II. , 
four  simple  examples  of  the  satellitic  cluster,  all  of  the  North- 
ern  Gothic  :  4,  from  the  Cathedral  of  Amiens-;  7,  from  that 
of  Lyons  (nave  pier) ;  8,  the  same  from  Salisbury  ;  10,  from 
the  porch  of  Notre  Dame,  Dijon,  having  satellites  of  three 
magnitudes  :  9  is  one  of  the  piers  between  the  doors  of  the 
same  church,  with  shafts  of  four  magnitudes,  and  is  an  in- 
stance of  the  confusion  of  mind  of  the  Northern  architects 
between  piers  proper  and  jamb  mouldings  (noticed  farther  in 
the  next  chapter,  §  xxxi.) :  for  this  fig.  9,  which  is  an  angle  at 
the  meeting  of  two  jambs,  is  treated  like  a  rich  independent 
shaft,  and  the  figure  below,  12,  which  is  half  of  a  true  shaft, 
is  treated  like  a  meeting  of  jambs. 

All  these  four  examples  belonging  to  the  oblique  or  North- 
ern system,  the  curious  trefoil  plan,  3,  lies  between  the  two,  as 
the  double  quatrefoil  next  it  unites  the  two.  The  trefoil  is 
from  the  Frari,  Venice,  and  has  a  richly  worked  capital  in  the 
Byzantine  manner, — an  imitation,  I  think,  of  the  Byzantine 
work  by  the  Gothic  builders  :  1  is  to  be  compared  with  it, 
being  one  of  the  earliest  conditions  of  the  cross  shaft,  from 
the  atrium  of  St.  Ambrogio  at  Milan.  13  is  the  nave  pier  of 
St.  Michele  at  Pa  via,  showing  the  same  condition  more  fully 
developed  :  and  11  another  nave  pier  from  Vienne-  on  the 
Rhone,  of  far  more  distinct  Homan  derivation,  for  the  flat 
pilaster  is  set  to  the  nave,  and  is  fluted  like  an  antiqxie  one„ 
12  is  the  grandest  development  I  have  ever  seen  of  the  cross 
shaft,  with  satellite  shafts  in  the  nooks  of  it :  it  is  half  of  one 
of  the  great  western  piers  of  the  cathedral  of  Bo  urges,  meas- 
uring eight  feet  each  side,  thirty-two  round. jf    Then  the  on<* 

*  The  effect  of  this  last  is  given  in  Plate  VI.  of  the  folio  series. 

f  The  entire  development  of  this  cross  system  in  connection  with  the 
vaulting  ribs,  has  been  most  clearly  explained  by  Professor  Willis 
(Architecture  of  Mid.  Ages,  Chap.  IV.);  and  I  strongly  recommend 


THE  SHAFT, 


111 


below  (15)  is  half  of  a  nave  pier  of  Eouen  Cathedral,  showing 
the  mode  in  which  such  conditions  as  that  of  Dijon  (9)  and 
that  of  Bourges  (12)  were  fused  together  into  forms  of  inex- 
tricable complexity  (inextricable  I  mean  in  the  irregularity  of 
proportion  and  projection,  for  all  of  them  are  easily  resolva- 
ble into  simple  systems  in  connection  with  the  roof  ribs). 
This  pier  of  Kouen  is  a  type  of  the  last  condition  of  the  good 
Gothic  ;  from  this  point  the  small  shafts  begin  to  lose  shape, 
and  run  into  narrow  fillets  and  ridges,  projecting  at  the  same 
time  farther  and  farther  in  weak  tongue-like  sections,  as  de- 
scribed in  the  "Seven  Lamps."  I  have  only  here  given  one 
example  of  this  family,  an  unimportant  but  sufficiently  char- 
acteristic one  (16)  from  St.  Gervais  of  Falaise.  One  side  of 
the  nave  of  that  church  is  Norman,  the  other  Flamboyant,  and 
the  two  piers  14  and  16  stand  opposite  each  other.  It  would 
be  useless  to  endeavor  to  trace  farther  the  fantasticism  of 
the  later  Gothic  shafts ;  they  become  mere  aggregations  of 
mouldings  very  sharply  and  finely  cut,  their  bases  at  the 
same  time  running  together  in  strange  complexity  and  their 
capitals  diminishing  and  disappearing.  Some  of  their  condi- 
tions, which,  in  their  rich  striation,  resemble  crystals  of  beryl, 
are  very  massy  and  grand  ;  others,  meagre,  harsh,  or  effem- 
inate in  tliemselves,  are  redeemed  by  richness  and  boldness 
of  decoration  ;  and  I  have  long  had  it  in  my  mind  to  reason 
oat  the  entire  harmony  of  this  French  Flamboyant  system, 
and  fix  its  types  and  possible  power.  But  this  inquiry  is 
foreign  altogether  to  our  present  purpose,  and  we  shall  there- 
fore turn  back  from  the  Flamboyant  to  the  Norman  side  of 
the  Falaise  aisle,  resolute  for  the  future  that  all  shafts  of 
which  we  may  have  the  ordering,  shall  be  permitted,  as  with 
wisdom  we  may  also  permit  men  or  cities,  to  gather  them- 
selves into  companies,  or  constellate  themselves  into  clusters, 
but  not  to  fuse  themselves  into  mere  masses  of  nebulous  ag- 
gregation. 

every  reader  who  is  inclined  to  take  pains  in  the  matter,  to  read  thai 
chapter.  I  have  been  contented,  in  my  own  text,  to  pursue  the  ab 
stract  idea  of  shaft  form. 


112 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  CAPITAL. 

§  i.  The  reader  will  remember  that  in  Chap.  VII.  §  v.  it 
was  said  that  the  cornice  of  the  wall,  being  cut  to  pieces  and 
gathered  together,  formed  the  capital  of  the  column.  We 
have  now  to  follow  it  in  its  transformation. 

We  must,  of  course,  take  our  simplest  form  or  root  of  cor- 
nices (a,  in  Fig.  V.,  above).  We  will  take  X  and  Y  there,  and 
we  must  necessarily  gather  them  together  as  we  did  Xb  and  Yb 
in  Chap.  VII.  Look  back  to  the  tenth  paragraph  of  Chap. 
VII.,  read  or  glance  it  over  again,  substitute  X  and  Y  for  Xb 
and  Yb,  read  capital  for  base,  and,  as  we  said  that  the  capital 
was  the  hand  of  the  pillar,  while  the  base  was  its  foot,  read 
also  fingers  for  toes  ;  and  as  you  look  to  the  plate,  Fig.  XII., 
turn  it  upside  down.  Then  h,  in  Fig.  XII,  becomes  now  your 
best  general  form  of  block  capital,  as  before  of  block  base. 

§  ii.  You  will  thus  have  a  perfect  idea  of  the  analogies 
between  base  and  capital ;  our  farther  inquiry  is  into  their 
differences.  You  cannot  but  have  noticed  that  when  Fig.  XII. 
is  turned  upside  down,  the  square  stone  (Y)  looks  too  heavy 
for  the  supporting  stone  (X)  ;  and  that  in  the  profile  of  cornice 
(a  of  Fig.  V.)  the  proportions  are  altogether  different.  You 
will  feel  the  fitness  of  this  in  an  instant  when  you  consider 
that  the  principal  function  of  the  sloping  part  in  Fig.  XII.  is 
as  a  prop  to  the  pillar  to  keep  it  from  dipping  aside  ;  but  the 
function  of  the  sloping  stone  in  the  cornice  and  capital  is  to 
carry  weight  above.  The  thrust  of  the  slope  in  the  one  case 
should  therefore  be  lateral,  in  the  other  upwards. 

§  in.  We  will,  therefore,  take  the  two  figures,  e  and  h  of 
Fig.  XII,  and  make  this  change  in  them  as  we  reverse  them, 
using  now  the  exact  profile  of  the  cornice  a, — the  father  of 
cornices  ;  and  we  shall  thus  have  a  and  b,  Fig.  XIX. 

Both  of  these  are  sufficiently  ugly,  the  reader  thinks  ;  so  do 
I ;  but  we  will  mend  them  before  we  have  done  with  them : 


THE  CAPITAL. 


113 


that  at  a  is  assuredly  the  ugliest, — like  a  tile  on  a  flower-pot. 
It  is,  nevertheless,  the  father  of  capitals  ;  being  the  simplest 
condition  of  the  gathered  father  of  cornices.  But  it  is  to  be 
observed  that  the  diameter  of  the  shaft  here  is  arbitrarily  as- 
sumed to  be  small,  in  order  more  clearly  to  show  the  general 
relations  of  the  slop- 
ing stone  to  the 
shaft  and  upper 
stone ;  and  this 
smallness  of  the 
shaft  diameter  is 
inconsistent  with 
the  serviceableness 
and  beauty  of  the 
arrangement  at  a, 
if  it  were  to  be 
realised  (as  we  shall 
see  presently) ;  but 
it  is  not  inconsistent 
with  its  central 
character,  as  the 
representative  of 
every  species  of 
possible  capital ; 
nor  is  its  tile  and 
flower-pot  look  to 
be  regretted,  as  it 
may  remind  the 
reader  of  the  re- 
ported origin  of  the 
Corinthian  capital. 
The  stones  of  the 
cornice,  hitherto 
called  X  and  Y,  re- 
ceive, now  that  they 
form    the  capital, 

each  a  separate  name  ;  the  sloping  stone  is  called  the  Bell  of 
the  capital,  and  that  laid  above  it,  the  Abacus.    Abacus  means 
Vol.  L-8 


Fig.  XIX. 


114 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


a  board  or  tile :  I  wish  there  were  an  English  word  for  it,  but 
I  fear  there  is  no  substitution  possible,  the  term  having  been 
long  fixed,  and  the  reader  will  find  it  convenient  to  familiarise 
himself  with  the  Latin  one. 

§  iv.  The  form  of  base,  e  of  Fig.  XII.,  which  corresponds  to 
this  first  form  of  capital,  a,  was  said  to  be  objectionable  only 
because  it  looked  insecure  ;  and  the  spurs  were  added  as  a  kind 
of  pledge  of  stability  to  the  eye.  But  evidently  the  projecting 
corners  of  the  abacus  at  a,  Fig.  XIX.,  are  actually  insecure  ; 
they  may  break  off,  if  great  weight  be  laid  upon  them.  This 
is  the  chief  reason  of  the  ugliness  of  the  form  ;  and  the  spurs 
in  b  are  now  no  mere  pledges  of  apparent  stability,  but  have 
very  serious  practical  use  in  supporting  the  angle  of  the  aba- 
cus. If,  even  with  the  added  spur,  the  support  seems  insuffi- 
cient, we  may  fill  up  the  crannies  between  the  spurs  and  the 
bell,  and  we  have  the  form  c. 

Thus  a,  though  the  germ  and  type  of  capitals,  is  itself  (ex- 
cept under  some  peculiar  conditions)  both  ugly  and  insecure  ; 
b  is  the  first  type  of  capitals  which  carry  light  weight ;  c,  of 
capitals  which  carry  excessive  weight. 

§  v.  I  fear,  however,  the  reader  may  think  he  is  going 
slightly  too  fast,  and  may  not  like  having  the  capital  forced 
upon  him  out  of  the  cornice  ;  but  would  prefer  inventing  a 
capital  for  the  shaft  itself,  without  reference  to  the  cornice  at 
all.  We  will  do  so  then  ;  though  we  shall  come  to  the  same 
result. 

The  shaft,  it  will  be  remembered,  has  to  sustain  the  same 
weight  as  the  long  piece  of  wall  which  was  concentrated  into 
the  shaft ;  it  is  enabled  to  do  this  both  by  its  better  form  and 
better  knit  materials  ;  and  it  can  carry  a  greater  weight  than 
the  space  at  the  top  of  it  is  adapted  to  receive.  The  first 
point,  therefore,  is  to  expand  this  space  as  far  as  possible,  and 
that  in  a  form  more  convenient  than  the  circle  for  the  adjust- 
ment of  the  stones  above.  In  general  the  square  is  a  more 
convenient  form  than  any  other  ;  but  the  hexagon  or  octagon 
is  sometimes  better  fitted  for  masses  of  work  which  divide  in 
six  or  eight  directions.  Then  our  first  impulse  would  be  ta 
put  a  square  or  hexagonal  stone  on  the  top  of  the  shaft,  pre- 


TEE  CAPITAL. 


115 


1 


a 


jeeting  as  far  beyond  it  as  might  be  safely  ventured  ;  as  at  a, 
Fig.  XX.  This  is  the  abacus.  Our  next  idea  would  be  to  put 
a  conical  shaped  stone  beneath  this  abacus,  to  support  its 
outer  edge,  as  at  b.    This  is  the  bell. 

§  vi.  Now  the  entire  treatment  of  the  capital  depends  simply 
on  the  manner  in  which  this  bell-stone  is  prepared  for  fitting 
the  shaft  below  and  the  abacus  above.  Placed  as  at  a,  in  Fig0 
XIX.,  it  gives  us  the  simplest  of  possible  forms  ;  with  the 
spurs  added,  as  at  b,  it  gives  the  germ  of  the  richest  and  most 
elaborate  forms  :  but  there  are  two  modes  of  treatment  more 
dexterous  than  the  one,  and  less  elaborate  than  the  other, 
which  are  of  the  highest  possible  im- 
portance,— modes  in  which  the  bell  is 
brought  to  its  proper  form  by  truncation. 

§  vii.  Let  d  and  f,  Fig.  XIX.,  be  two 
bell-stones  ;  d  is  part  of  a  cone  (a  sugar- 
loaf  upside  down,  with  its  point  cut  off) ; 
f  part  of  a  four-sided  pyramid.  Then, 
assuming  the  abacus  to  be  square,  d  will 
already  fit  the  shaft,  but  has  to  be  chisel- 
led to  fit  the  abacus  ;  f  will  already  fit  the 
abacus,  but  has  to  be  chiselled  to  fit  the 
shaft. 

From  the  broad  end  of  d  chop  or  chisel 
off,  in  four  vertical  planes,  as  much  as  ^ 
will  leave  its  head  an  exact  square.  The 
vertical  cuttings  will  form  curves  on  the 
sides  of  the  cone  (curves  of  a  curious  kind,  which  the  reader 
need  not  be  troubled  to  examine),  and  we  shall  have  the  form 
at  c,  which  is  the  root  of  the  greater  number  of  Norman  capitals. 

From  f  cut  off  the  angles,  beginning  at  the  corners  of  the 
square  and  widening  the  truncation  downwards,  so  as  to  give 
the  form  at  g,  where  the  base  of  the  bell  is  an  octagon,  and  its 
top  remains  a  square.  A  very  slight  rounding  away  of  the 
angles  of  the  octagon  at  the  base  of  g  will  enable  it  to  fit  the 
circular  shaft  closely  enough  for  all  practical  purposes,  and 
this  form,  at  g,  is  the  root  of  nearly  all  Lombardic  capitals. 

If4  instead  of  a  square,  the  head  of  the  bell  were  hexagon^] 


E 


7 


Fig.  XX. 


116 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


or  octagonal,  the  operation  of  cutting  would  be  the  same  on 
each  angle ;  but  there  would  be  produced,  of  course,  six  or 
eight  curves  on  the  sides  of  e,  and  twelve  or  sixteen  sides  to 
the  base  of  g. 

§  viii.  The  truncations  in  e  and  g  may  of  course  be  executed 
on  concave  or  convex  forms  of  d  and  f ;  but  e  is  usually 
worked  on  a  straight-sided  bell,  and  the  truncation  of  g  often 
becomes  concave  while  the  bell  remains  straight  ;  for  this 
simple  reason, — that  the  sharp  points  at  the  angles  of  g,  being 
somewhat  difficult  to  cut,  and  easily  broken  off,  are  usually 
avoided  by  beginning  the  truncation  a  little  way  down  the 
side  of  the  bell,  and  then  recovering  the 
lost  ground  by  a  deeper  cut  inwards,  as 
here,  Fig.  XXI.  This  is  the  actual  form 
of  the  capitals  of  the  balustrades  of  St. 
Mark's  :  it  is  the  root  of  all  the  Byzantine 
Arab  capitals,  and  of  all  the  most  beauti- 
ful capitals  in  the  world,  whose  function 

Fig.  XXI.  .    ,  ,.   ,  . 

is  to  express  lightness. 

§  ix.  We  have  hitherto  proceeded  entirely  on  the  assump- 
tion that  the  form  of  cornice  which  was  gathered  together  to 
produce  the  capital  was  the  root  of  cornices,  a  of  Fig.  V. 
But  this,  it  will  be  remembered,  was  said  in  §  vi.  of  Chap.  VI. 
to  be  especially  characteristic  of  southern  work,  and  that  in 
northern  and  wet  climates  it  took  the  form  of  a  dripstone. 

Accordingly,  in  the  northern  climates,  the  dripstone 
gathered  together  forms  a  peculiar  northern  capital,  com- 
monly called  the  Early  English,*  owing  to  its  especial  use  in 
that  style. 

There  would  have  been  no  absurdity  in  this  if  shafts  were 
always  to  be  exposed  to  the  weather  ;  but  in  Gothic  con- 
structions the  most  important  shafts  are  in  the  inside  of  the 
building.  The  dripstone  sections  of  their  capitals  are  there* 
fore  unnecessary  and  ridiculous. 

§  x.  They  are,  however,  much  worse  than  unnecessary. 

The  edge  of  the  dripstone,  being  undercut,  has  no  bearing 
power,  and  the  capital  fails,  therefore,  in  its  own  principal 
*  Appendix  19,  "  Early  English  Capitals." 


THE  CAPITAL. 


117 


function  ;  and  besides  this,  the  undercut  contour  admits  of 
no  distinctly  visible  decoration  ;  it  is,  therefore,  left  utterly 
barren,  and  the  capital  looks  as  if  it  had  been  turned  in  a 
lathe.  The  Early  English  capital  has,  there- 
fore, the  three  greatest  faults  that  any  design 
can  have  :  (1)  it  fails  in  its  own  proper  pur- 
pose, that  of  support  ;  (2)  it  is  adapted  to  a 
purpose  to  which  it  can  never  be  put,  that 
of  keeping  off  rain  ;  (3)  it  cannot  be  de- 
corated. 

The  Early  English  capital  is,  therefore,  a 
barbarism  of  triple  grossness,  and  degrades 
the  style  in  which  it  is  found,  otherwise  very 
noble,  to  one  of  second-rate  order. 

§  xi.  Dismissing,  therefore,  the  Early 
English  capital,  as  deserving  no  place  in 
our  system,  let  us  reassemble  in  one  view 
the  forms  which  have  been  legitimately  de- 
veloped, and  which  are  to  become  hereafter 
subjects  of  decoration.  To  the  forms  a,  b, 
and  c,  Fig.  XIX.,  we  must  add  the  two 
simplest  truncated  forms  e  and  g,  Fig.  XIX., 
putting  their  abaci  on  them  (as  we  con- 
sidered their  contours  in  the  bells  only),  and 
we  shall  have  the  five  forms  now  given  in 
parallel  perspective  in  Fig.  XXII.,  which  are 
the  roots  of  all  good  capitals  existing,  or 
capable  of  existence,  and  whose  variations, 
infinite  and  a  thousand  times  infinite,  are  all 
produced  by  introduction  of  various  curva- 
tures into  their  contours,  and  the  endless 
methods  of  decoration  superinduced  on  such 
curvatures. 

§  xii.  There  is,  however,  a  kind  of  varia- 
tion, also  infinite,  which  takes  place  in  these 
radical  forms,  before  they  receive  either  curvature  or  decora- 
tion. This  is  the  variety  of  proportion  borne  by  the  different 
lines  of  the  capital  to  each  other,  and  to  the  shafts.    This  is 


Fig.  XXII. 


llS  THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 

a  structural  question,  at  present  to  be  considered  as  far  as  ia 
possible. 

§  xin.  All  the  five  capitals  (which  are  indeed  five  orders 
with  legitimate  distinction  ;  very  different,  however,  from  the 
five  orders  as  commonly  understood)  may  be  represented  by 
the  same  profile,  a  section  through  the  sides  of  a,  6,  d,  and  e, 
or  through  the  angles  of  c,  Fig.  XXII.  This  profile  we  will 
put  on  the  top  of  a  shaft,  as  at  A,  Fig.  XXIII.,  which  shaft 
we  will  suppose  of  equal  diameter  above  and  below  for  the 
sake  of  greater  simplicity  :  in  this  simplest  condition,  how- 


Fig.  XXIII. 


ever,  relations  of  proportion  exist  between  five  quantities,  any 
one,  or  any  two,  or  any  three,  or  any  four  of  which  may  change, 
irrespective  of  the  others.    These  five  quantities  are  : 

1.  The  height  of  the  shaft,  a  b  ; 

2.  Its  diameter,  be; 

3.  The  length  of  slope  of  bell,  b  d  ; 

4.  The  inclination  of  this  slope,  or  angle  c  b  d  ; 

5.  The  depth  of  abacus,  d  e. 

For  every  change  in  any  one  of  these  quantities  we  have 
a  new  proportion  of  capital  :  five  infinities,  supposing  change 
only  in  one  quantity  at  a  time  :  infinity  of  infinities  in  the  sum 
of  possible  changes. 


THE  CAPITAL. 


119 


It  is,  therefore,  only  possible  to  note  the  general  laws  o^ 
change  ;  every  scale  of  pillar,  and  every  weight  laid  upon  it 
admitting,  within  certain  limits,  a  variety  out  of  which  the 
architect  has  his  choice  ;  but  yet  fixing  limits  which  the  pro- 
portion becomes  ugly  when  it  approaches,  and  dangerous 
when  it  exceeds.  But  the  inquiry  into  this  subject  is  too 
difficult  for  the  general  reader,  and  I  shall  content  myself  with 
proving  four  laws,  easily  understood  and  generally  applicable  ; 
for  proof  of  which  if  the  said  reader  care  not,  he  may  miss  the 
next  four  paragraphs  without  harm. 

§  xiv.  1.  The  more  slender  the  shaft,  the  greater,  propor- 
tionally, may  be  the  projection  of  the  abacus.  For,  looking 
back  to  Fig.  XXIII.,  let  the  height  a  b  be  fixed,  the  length 
d  b,  the  angle  d  b  c,  and  the  depth  d  e.  Let  the  single  quantity 
b  c  be  variable,  let  B  be  a  capital  and  shaft  which  are  found  to 
be  perfectly  safe  in  proportion  to  the  weight  they  bear,  and 
let  the  weight  be  equally  distributed  over  the  whole  of  the 
abacus.  Then  this  weight  may  be  represented  by  any  number 
of  equal  divisions,  suppose  four,  as  I,  m,  n,  r,  of  brickwork 
above,  of  which  each  division  is  one  fourth  of  the  whole 
weight ;  and  let  this  weight  be  placed  in  the  most  trying  way 
on  the  abacus,  that  is  to  say,  let  the  masses  I  and  r  be  detached 
from  m  and  n,  and  bear  with  their  full  weight  on  the  outside 
of  the  capital.  We  assume,  in  B,  that  the  width  of  abacus  e  f 
is  twice  as  great  as  that  of  the  shaft,  b  c,  and  on  these  condi- 
tions we  assume  the  capital  to  be  safe. 

But  b  c  is  allowed  to  be  variable.  Let  it  become  b2  c2  at  C, 
which  is  a  length  representing  about  the  diameter  of  a  shaft 
containing  half  the  substance  of  the  shaft  B,  and,  therefore, 
able  to  sustain  not  more  than  half  the  weight  sustained  by  B. 
But  the  slope  b  d  and  depth  d  e  remaining  unchanged,  we 
have  the  capital  of  C,  which  we  are  to  load  with  only  half  the 
weight  of  I,  m,  n,  r}  i.  e.,  with  I  and  r  alone.  Therefore  the 
weight  of  I  and  r,  now  represented  by  the  masses  Z2  r2,  is  dis- 
tributed over  the  whole  of  the  capital.  But  the  weight  r  was 
adequately  supported  by  the  projecting  piece  of  the  first  capi- 
tal hfc :  much  more  is  it  now  adequately  supported  by  i  h, 
f%  cr    Therefore,  if  the  capital  of  B  was  safe,  that  of  C  ia 


120  THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 

more  than  safe.  Now  in  B  the  length  e  f  was  only  twice  b  c ; 
but  in  C,  e2f2  will  be  found  more  than  twice  that  of  62  c.}. 
Therefore,  the  more  slender  the  shaft,  the  greater  may  be  the 
proportional  excess  of  the  abacus  over  its  diameter. 

§  xv.  2.  The  smaller  the  scale  of  the  building,  the  greater  may 
be  the  excess  of  the  abacus  over  the  diameter  of  the  shaft.  This 
principle  requires,  I  think,  no  very  lengthy  proof :  the  reader 
can  understand  at  once  that  the  cohesion  and  strength  of  stone 
which  can  sustain  a  small  projecting  mass,  will  not  sustain  a 
vast  one  overhanging  in  the  same  proportion.  A  bank  even 
of  loose  earth,  six  feet  high,  will  sometimes  overhang  its  base 
a  foot  or  two,  as  you  may  see  any  day  in  the  gravelly  banks  of 
the  lanes  of  Hampstead  :  but  make  the  bank  of  gravel,  equally 
loose,  six  hundred  feet  high,  and  see  if  you  can  get  it  to  over- 
hang a  hundred  or  two  !  much  more  if  there  be  weight  above 
it  increased  in  the  same  proportion.  Hence,  let  any  capital 
be  given,  whose  projection  is  just  safe,  and  no  more,  on  its 
existing  scale  ;  increase  its  proportions  every  way  equally, 
though  ever  so  little,  and  it  is  unsafe  ;  diminish  them  equally, 
and  it  becomes  safe  in  the  exact  degree  of  the  diminution. 


Fig.  XXIV. 


Let,  then,  the  quantity  e  d,  and  angle  d  b  c,  at  A,  of  Fig 
XXIII.,  be  invariable,  and  let  the  length  d  b  vary :  then  we 
shall  have  such  a  series  of  forms  as  may  be  represented  by  a, 
b,  c,  Fig.  XXIV.,  of  which  a  is  a  proportion  for  a  colossal 
building,  b  for  a  moderately  sized  building,  while  c  could  only 
be  admitted  on  a  very  small  scale  indeed. 

§  xvi.  3.  The  greater  the  excess  of  abacus,  the  steeper  must  be 
the  slope  of  the  bell,  the  shaft  diameter  being  constant. 

This  will  evidently  follow  from  the  considerations  in  the 
last  paragraph  ;  supposing  only  that,  instead  of  the  scale  of 


THE  CAPITAL. 


121 


Bhaft  and  capital  varying  together,  the  scale  of  the  capita] 
varies  alone.  For  it  will  then  still  be  true,  that,  if  the  projec 
tion  of  the  capital  be  just  safe  on  a  given  scale,  as  its  excess 
over  the  shaft  diameter  increases,  the  pro- 
jection will  be  unsafe,  if  the  slope  of  the 
bell  remain  constant.  But  it  may  be 
rendered  safe  by  making  this  slope 
steeper,  and  so  increasing  its  supporting 
power. 

Thus  let  the  capital  a,  Fig.  XXV.,  be  \ 
just  safe.  Then  the  capital  b,  in  which 
the  slope  is  the  same  but  the  excess 
greater,  is  unsafe.  But  the  capital  c,  in 
which,  though  the  excess  equals  that  of 
6,  the  steepness  of  the  supporting  slope  is  L 
increased,  will  be  as  safe  as  b,  and  prob- 
ably as  strong  as  a.* 

§  xvii.  4.  The  steeper  the  slope  of  the 
bell,  the  thinner  may  be  the  abacus. 

The  use  of  the  abacus  is  eminently  to  fig.  xxv. 

equalise  the  pressure  over  the  surface  of 
the  bell,  so  that  the  weight  may  not  by  any  accident  be  directed 
exclusively  upon  its  edges.    In  proportion  to  the  strength  of 
these  edges,  this  function  of  the  abacus 
is  superseded,  and   these   edges  are 
strong  in  proportion  to  the  steepness  of 
the  slope.    Thus  in  Fig.  XXVI.,  the 
bell  at  a  would   carry  weight  safely 
enough  without  any  abacus,  but  that  at 
c  would  not :  it  would  probably  have  its 
edges  broken  off.     The  abacus  super- 
imposed might  be  on  a  very  thin,  lit- 
tle more  than  formal,  as  at  b  ;  but  on  c 
must  be  thick,  as  at  d. 
§  xvin.  These  four  rules  are  all  that  are  necessar}^  for  general 

*  In  this  case  the  weight  borne  is  supposed  to  increase  as  the  abacus 
widens  ;  the  illustration  would  have  been  clearer  if  I  had  assumed  th? 
breadth  of  abacus  to  be  constant,  and  that  of  the  shaft  to  vary. 


FlO.  XXVI. 


122 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


criticism  ;  and  observe  that  these  are  only  semi-imperative,— 
rules  of  j)ermission,  not  of  compulsion.  Thus  Law  1  asserts 
that  the  slender  shaft  may  have  greater  excess  of  capital  than 
the  thick  shaft ;  but  it  need  not,  unless  the  architect  chooses  ; 
his  thick  shafts  must  have  small  excess,  but  his  slender  ones 
need  not  have  large.  So  Law  2  says,  that  as  the  building  is 
smaller,  the  excess  may  be  greater ;  but  it  need  not,  for  the 
excess  which  is  safe  in  the  large  is  still  safer  in  the  small.  So 
Law  3  says  that  capitals  of  great  excess  must  have  steep  slopes  ; 
but  in  does  not  say  that  capitals  of  small  excess  may  not  have 
steep  slopes  also,  if  we  choose.  And  lastly,  Law  4  asserts  the 
necessity  of  the  thick  abacus  for  the  shallow  bell ;  but  the 
steep  bell  may  have  a  thick  abacus  also. 

§  xix.  It  will  be  found,  however,  that  in  practice  some  con- 
fession of  these  laws  will  always  be  useful,  and  especially  of 
the  two  first.  The  eye  always  requires,  on  a  slender  shaft,  a 
more  spreading  capital  than  it  does  on  a  massy  one,  and  a 
bolder  mass  of  capital  on  a  small  scale  than  on  a  large.  And, 
in  the  application  of  the  first  rule,  it  is  to  be  noted  that  a  shaft 
becomes  slender  either  by  diminution  of  diameter  or  increase 
of  height ;  that  either  mode  of  change  presupposes  the  weight 
above  it  diminished,  and  requires  an  expansion  of  abacus.  I 
know  no  mode  of  spoiling  a  noble  building  more  frequent  in 
actual  practice  than  the  imposition  of  flat  and  slightly  ex- 
panded capitals  on  tall  shafts. 

§  xx.  The  reader  must  observe,  also,  that,  in  the  demonstra- 
tion of  the  four  laws,  I  always  assumed  the  weight  above  to 
be  given.  By  the  alteration  of  this  weight,  therefore,  the  archi- 
tect has  it  in  his  power  to  relieve,  and  therefore  alter,  the 
forms  of  his  capitals.  By  its  various  distribution  on  their 
centres  or  edges,  the  slope  of  their  bells  and  thickness  of  abaci 
will  be  affected  also  ;  so  that  he  has  countless  expedients  at  his 
command  for  the  various  treatment  of  his  design.  He  can  di- 
vide his  weights  among  more  shafts  ;  he  can  throw  them  in 
different  places  and  different  directions  on  the  abaci ;  he  can 
alter  slope  of  bells  or  diameter  of  shafts  ;  he  can  use  spurred 
or  plain  bells,  thin  or  thick  abaci  ;  and  all  these  changes  ad- 
mitting of  infinity  in  their  degrees,  and  infinity  a  thousand 


THE  CAPITAL. 


123 


times  told  in  their  relations  :  and  all  this  without  reference  to 
decoration,  merely  with  the  five  forms  of  block  capital ! 

§  xxi.  In  the  harmony  of  these  arrangements,  in  their  fit- 
ness, unity,  and  accuracy,  lies  the  true  proportion  of  every 
building, — proportion  utterly  endless  in  its  infinities  of  change, 
with  unchanged  beauty.  And  yet  this  connection  of  the  frame 
of  their  building  into  one  harmony  has,  I  believe,  never  been 
so  much  as  dreamed  of  by  architects.  It  has  been  instinc- 
tively done  in  some  degree  by  many,  empirically  in  some  de- 
gree by  many  more  ;  thoughtfully  and  thoroughly,  I  believe, 
by  none. 

§  xxn.  We  have  hitherto  considered  the  abacus  as  necessa- 
rily a  separate  stone  from  the  bell :  evidently,  however,  the 
strength  of  the  capital  will  be  undiminished  if  both  are  cut  out 
of  one  block.  This  is  actually  the  case  in  many  capitals,  es- 
pecially those  on  a  small  scale  ;  and  in  others  the  detached 
upper  stone  is  a  mere  representative  of  the  abacus,  and  is 
much  thinner  than  the  form  of  the  capital  requires,  while  the 
true  abacus  is  united  with  the  bell,  and  concealed  by  its  dec- 
oration, or  made  part  of  it. 

§  xxiii.  Farther.  "We  have  hitherto  considered  bell  and 
abacus  as  both  derived  from  the  concentration  of  the  cornice. 
But  it  must  at  once  occur  to  the  reader,  th^it  the  projection  of 
the  under  stone  and  the  thickness  of  the  upper,  which  are 
quite  enough  for  the  work  of  the  continuous  cornice,  may  not 
be  enough  always,  or  rather  are  seldom  likely  to  be  so,  for  the 
harder  work  of  the  capital.  Both  may  have  to  be  deepened 
and  expanded  :  but  as  this  would  cause  a  want  of  harmony  in 
the  parts,  when  they  occur  on  the  same  level,  it  is  better  in 
such  case  to  let  the  entire  cornice  form  the  abacus  of  the 
capital,  and  put  a  deep  capital  bell  beneath  it. 

§  xxiv.  The  reader  will  understand  both  arrangements  in- 
stantly by  two  examples.  Fig.  XXVII.  represents  two  win- 
dows, more  than  usually  beautiful  examples  of  a  very  frequent 
Venetian  form.  Here  the  deep  cornice  or  string  course  which 
runs  along  the  wall  of  the  house  is  quite  strong  enough  for 
the  work  of  the  capitals  of  the  slender  shafts  :  its  own  upper 
stone  is  therefore  also  theirs ;  its  own  lower  stone,  by  its 


124 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE, 


revolution  or  concentration  forms  their  bells  :  but  to  marl; 
the  increased  importance  of  its  function  in  so  doing,  it  re- 


This  last  arrangement  is  of  great  frequency  in  Venice, 
occurring  most  characteristically  in  St.  Mark's :  and  in  the 
Gothic  of  St.  John  and  Paul  we  find  the  two  arrangements 
beautifully  united,  though  in  great  simplicity ;  the  string 
courses  of  the  wralls  form  the  capitals  of  the  shafts  of  the 
traceries,  and  the  abaci  of  the  vaulting  shafts  of  the  apse. 

§  xxv.  We  have  hitherto  spoken  of  capitals  of  circular 
shafts  only  :  those  of  square  piers  are  more  frequently  formed 
by  the  cornice  only  ;  otherwise  they  are  like  those  of  circular 
piers,  without  the  difficulty  of  reconciling  the  base  of  the 
bell  with  its  head. 

§  xxvi.  "When  two  or  more  shafts  are  grouped  together, 
their  capitals  are  usually  treated  as  separate,  until  they  come 
into  actual  contact.  If  there  be  any  awkwardness  in  the 
junction,  it  is  concealed  by  the  decoration,  and  one  abacus 
serves,  in  most  cases,  for  all.   The  double  group,  Fig.  XXVIL 


ceives  decoration,  as  the  bell 
of  the  capital,  which  it  did 
not  receive  as  the  undei 
stone  of  the  cornice. 


Fig.  XXVII. 


In  Fig.  XXVIII,  a  little 
bit  of  the  church  of  Santa 
Fosca  at  Torcello,  the  cor- 
nice or  string  course,  which 
goes  round  every  part  ol 
the  church,  is  not  strong 
enough  to  form  the  capitals 
of  the  shafts.  It  therefore 
forms  their  abaci  only  ;  and 
in  order  to  mark  the  di- 
minished importance  of  its 
function,  it  ceases  to  re- 
ceive, as  the  abacus  of  the 
capital,  the  decoration  which 
it  received  as  the  string 
course  of  the  wall. 


THE  CAPITAL. 


12S> 


is  the  simplest  possible  type  of  the  arrangement.  In  the 
richer  Northern  Gothic  groups  of  eighteen  or  twenty  shafts 
cluster  together,  and  sometimes  the  smaller  shafts  crouch 
under  the  capitals  of  the  larger,  and  hide  their  heads  in  the 
crannies,  with  small  nominal  abaci  of  their  own,  while  the 
larger  shafts  carry  the  serviceable  abacus  of  the  whole  pier, 
as  in  the  nave  of  Rouen.  There  is,  however,  evident  sacrifice 
of  sound  principle  in  this  system,  the  smaller  abaci  being  of 
no  use.  They  are  the  exact  contrary  of  the  rude  early  abacus 
at  Milan,  given  in  Plate  XVII.    There  one   poor  abacus 


Fig.  XXVIII. 


stretched  itself  out  to  do  all  the  work :  here  there  are  idle 
abaci  getting  up  into  corners  and  doing  none. 

§  xxvii.  Finally,  we  have  considered  the  capital  hitherto 
entirely  as  an  expansion  of  the  bearing  power  of  the  shaft, 
supposing  the  shaft  composed  of  a  single  stone.  But,  evidently, 
the  capital  has  a  function,  if  possible,  yet  more  important, 
when  the  shaft  is  composed  of  small  masonry.  It  enables  all 
that  masonry  to  act  together,  and  to  receive  the  pressure  from 
above  collectively  and  with  a  single  strength.  And  thus,  con- 
sidered merely  as  a  large  stone  set  on  the  top  of  the  shaft,  it 
is  a  feature  of  the  highest  architectural  importance,  irrespeo 


126 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


tive  of  its  expansion,  which  indeed  is,  in  some  very  noble  cap 
itals,  exceedingly  small.  And  thus  every  large  stone  set  at  any 
important  point  to  reassemble  the  force  of  smaller  masonry 
and  prepare  it  for  the  sustaining  of  weight,  is  a  capital  or 
"  head  "  stone  (the  true  meaning  of  the  word)  whether  it  pro- 
ject or  not.  Thus  at  6,  in  Plate  IV.,  the  stones  which  support 
the  thrust  of  the  brickwork  are  capitals,  which  have  no  pro- 
jection at  all ;  and  the  large  stones  in  the  window  above  are 
capitals  projecting  in  one  direction  only. 

§  xxviii.  The  reader  is  now  master  of  all  he  need  know 
respecting  construction  of  capitals  ;  and  from  what  has  been 
laid  before  him,  must  assuredly  feel  that  there  can  never  be 
any  new  system  of  architectural  forms  invented  ;  but  that  all 
vertical  support  must  be,  to  the  end  of  time,  best  obtained  by 
shafts  and  capitals.  It  has  been  so  obtained  by  nearly  every 
nation  of  builders,  with  more  or  less  refinement  in  the  man- 
agement of  the  details ;  and  the  later  Gothic  builders  of  the 
North  stand  almost  alone  in  their  effort  to  dispense  with  the 
natural  development  of  the  shaft,  and  banish  the  capital  from 
their  compositions. 

They  were  gradually  led  into  this  error  through  a  series  of 
steps  which  it  is  not  here  our  business  to  trace.  But  they 
may  be  generalised  in  a  few  words. 

§  xxix.  All  classical  architecture,  and  the  Eomanesque 
which  is  legitimately  descended  from  it,  is  composed  of  bold 
independent  shafts,  plain  or  fluted,  with  bold  detached  capi- 
tals, forming  arcades  or  colonnades  where  they  are  needed  ; 
and  of  walls  whose  apertures  are  surrounded  by  courses  of 
parallel  lines  called  mouldings,  which  are  continuous  round 
the  apertures,  and  have  neither  shafts  nor  capitals.  The  shaft 
system  and  moulding  s}7stem  are  entirely  separate. 

The  Gothic  architects  confounded  the  two.  They  clustered 
the  shafts  till  they  looked  like  a  group  of  mouldings.  They 
shod  and  capitaled  the  mouldings  till  they  looked  like  a  group 
of  shafts.  So  that  a  pier  became  merely  the  side  of  a  door  or 
window  rolled  up,  and  the  side  of  the  window  a  pier  unrolled 
(vide  last  Chapter,  §  xxx.),  both  being  composed  of  a  series  of 
small  shafts,  each  with  base  and  capital.  The  architect  seemed 


THE  CAPITAL. 


127 


to  have  whole  mats  of  shafts  at  his  disposal,  like  the  rush 
mats  which  one  puts  under  cream  cheese.  If  he  wanted  a 
great  pier  he  rolled  up  the  mat  ;  if  he  wanted  the  side  of  a 
door  he  spread  out  the  mat ;  and  now  the  reader  has  to  add 
to  the  other  distinctions  between  the  Egyptian  and  the  Gothic 
shaft,  already  noted  in  §  xxvi.  of  Chap.  VIIL,  this  one  more — 
the  most  important  of  all — that  while  the  Egyptian  rush  clus- 
ter has  only  one  massive  capital  altogether,  the  Gothic  rush 
mat  has  a  separate  tiny  capital  to  every  several  rush. 

§  xxx.  The  mats  were  gradually  made  of  finer  rushes,  until 
it  became  troublesome  to  give  each  rush  its  capital.  In  fact, 
when  the  groups  of  shafts  became  excessively  complicated,  the 
expansion  of  their  small  abaci  was  of  no  use  :  it  was  dispensed 
with  altogether,  and  the  mouldings  of  pier  and  jamb  ran  up 
continuously  into  the  arches. 

This  condition,  though  in  many  respects  faulty  and  false,  is 
yet  the  eminently  characteristic  state  of  Gothic  :  it  is  the  defi- 
nite formation  of  it  as  a  distinct  style,  owing  no  farther  aid  to 
classical  models  ;  and  its  lightness  and  complexity  render  it, 
when  well  treated,  and  enriched  with  Flamboyant  decoration, 
a  very  glorious  means  of  picturesque  effect.  It  is,  in  fact,  this 
form  of  Gothic  which  commends  itself  most  easily  to  the  gen- 
eral mind,  and  which  has  suggested  the  innumerable  foolish 
theories  about  the  derivation  of  Gothic  from  tree  trunks  and 
avenues,  which  have  from  time  to  time  been  brought  forward 
by  persons 'ignorant  of  the  history  of  architecture. 

§  xxxi.  When  the  sense  of  picturesqueness,  as  well  as  that 
of  justness  and  dignity,  had  been  lost,  the  spring  of  the  con- 
tinuous mouldings  wTas  replaced  by  what  Professor  Willis  calls 
the  Discontinuous  impost ;  which,  being  a  barbarism  of  the 
basest  and  most  painful  kind,  and  being  to  architecture  what 
the  setting  of  a  saw  is  to  music,  I  shall  not  trouble  the  reader 
to  examine.  For  it  is  not  in  my  plan  to  note  for  him  all  the 
various  conditions  of  error,  but  only  to  guide  him  to  the  ap- 
preciation of  the  right  ;  and  I  only  note  even  the  true  Contin- 
uous or  Flamboyant  Gothic  because  this  is  redeemed  by  its 
beautiful  decoration,  afterwards  to  be  considered.  For,  as  far 
as  structure  is  concerned,  the  moment  the  capital  vanishes 


128 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


from  the  shaft,  that  moment  we  are  in  error  :  all  good  Gothk 
has  true  capitals  to  the  shafts  of  its  jambs  and  traceries,  and 
all  Gothic  is  debased  the  instant  the  shaft  vanishes.  It  matters 
not  how  slender,  or  how  small,  or  how  low,  the  shaft  may  be  : 
wherever  there  is  indication  of  concentrated  vertical  support, 
then  the  capital  is  a  necessary  termination.  I  know  how 
much  Qothic,  otherwise  beautiful,  this  sweeping  principle  con- 
demns ;  but  it  condemns  not  altogether.  We  may  still  take 
delight  in  its  lovely  proportions,  its  rich  decoration,  or  its 
elastic  and  reedy  moulding  ;  but  be  assured,  wherever  shafts, 
or  any  approximations  to  the  forms  of  shafts,  are  employed,  for 
whatever  office,  or  on  whatever  scale,  be  it  in  jambs  or  piers, 
or  balustrades,  or  traceries,  without  capitals,  there  is  a  defiance 
of  the  natural  laws  of  construction  ;  and  that,  wherever  such 
examples  are  found  in  ancient  buildings,  they  are  either  the  ex- 
periments of  barbarism,  or  the  commencements  of  decline. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  ARCH  LINE. 

§  i.  We  have  seen  in  the  last  section  how  our  means  of  ver- 
tical support  may,  for  the  sake  of  economy  both  of  space  and 
material,  be  gathered  into  piers  or  shafts,  and  directed  to  the 
sustaining  of  particular  points.  The  next  question  is  how  to 
connect  these  points  or  tops  of  shafts  with  each  other,  so  as  to 
be  able  to  lay  on  them  a  continuous  roof.  This  the  reader,  as 
before,  is  to  favor  me  by  finding  out  for  himself,  under  these 
following  conditions. 

Let  s,  .s,  Fig.  XXIX.,  opposite,  be  two  shafts,  with  their 
capitals  ready  prepared  for  their  work  ;  and  a,  b,  b,  and  c,  c,  c. 
be  six  stones  of  different  sizes,  one  very  long  and  large,  and 
two  smaller,  and  three  smaller  still,  of  which  the  reader  is  to 
choose  which  he  likes  best,  in  order  to  connect  the  tops  of  the 
shafts. 

I  suppose  he  will  first  try  if  he  can  lift  the  great  stone  a, 
and  if  he  can,  he  will  put  it  very  simply  on  the  tops  of  the  two 
pillars,  as  at  A. 


THE  ARCH  LINE. 


129 


Very  well  indeed  :  he  has  done  already  what  a  number  of 
Greek  architects  have  been  thought  very  clever  for  having 
done.    But  suppose  he  cannot  lift  the  great  stone  a,  or  sup- 


FlG.  XXIX. 


pose  I  will  not  give  it  to  him,  but  only  the  two  smaller  stones 
at  b,  b ;  he  will  doubtless  try  to  put  them  up,  tilted  against 
each  other,  as  at  d.  Very  awkward  this  ;  worse  than  card- 
house  building.  But  if  he  cuts  off  the  corners  of  the  stones. 
Vol.  I.— 9 


130 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


so  as  to  make  each  of  them  of  the  form  e,  they  will  stand  uj 
very  securely,  as  at  B. 

But  suppose  he  cannot  lift  even  these  less  stones,  but  can 
raise  those  at  c,  c,  c.  Then,  cutting  each  of  them  into  the 
form  at  e,  he  will  doubtless  set  them  up  as  at  f. 

§  ii.  This  last  arrangement  looks  a  little  dangerous.  Is 
there  not  a  chance  of  the  stone  in  the  middle  pushing  the 
others  out,  or  tilting  them  up  and  aside,  and  slipping  down 
itself  between  them  ?  There  is  such  a  chance  :  and  if  by 
somewhat  altering  the  form  of  the  stones,  we  can  diminish 
this  chance,  all  the  better.  I  must  say  "  we "  now,  for  per- 
haps I  ma}7  have  to  help  the  reader  a  little. 

The  danger  is,  observe,  that  the  midmost  stone  at/ pushes 
out  the  side  ones  :  then  if  we  can  give  the  side  ones  such  a 
shape  as  that,  left  to  themselves,  they  would  fall  heavily  for- 
ward, they  will  resist  this  push  out  by  their  weight,  exactly  in 
proportion  to  their  own  particular  inclination  or  desire  to 
tumble  in.  Take  one  of  them  separately,  standing  up  as  at  g ; 
it  is  just  possible  it  may  stand  up  as  it  is,  like  the  Tower  of 
Pisa  :  but  we  want  it  to  fall  forward.  Suppose  we  cut  away 
the  parts  that  are  shaded  at  h  and  leave  it  as  at  i,  it  is  very 
certain  it  cannot  stand  alone  now,  but  will  fall  forward  to  our 
entire  satisfaction. 

Farther  :  the  midmost  stone  at  f  is  likely  to  be  trouble- 
some chiefly  by  its  weight,  pushing  down  between  the  others  ; 
the  more  we  lighten  it  the  better  :  so  we  will  cut  it  into  ex- 
actly the  same  shape  as  the  side  ones,  chiselling  away  the 
shaded  parts,  as  at  h.  We  shall  then  have  all  the  three  stones 
k,  I,  m,  of  the  same  shape  ;  and  now  putting  them  together, 
we  have,  at  C,  what  the  reader,  I  doubt  not,  will  perceive  at 
once  to  be  a  much  more  satisfactory  arrangement  than  that 
at/. 

§  in.  We  have  now  got  three  arrangements  ;  in  one  using 
only  one  piece  of  stone,  in  the  second  twro,  and  in  the  third 
three.  The  first  arrangement  has  no  particular  name,  except 
the  "  horizontal : "  but  the  single  stone  (or  beam,  it  may  be,) 
is  called  a  lintel ;  the  second  arrangement  is  called  a  "  Gable  ;* 
the  third  an  "  Arch." 


THE  ARCH  LINE. 


131 


We  might  have  used  pieces  of  wood  instead  of  stone  in  all 
these  arrangements,  with  no  difference  in  plan,  so  long  as  the 
beams  were  kept  loose,  like  the  stones  ;  but  as  beams  can  be 
securely  nailed  together  at  the  ends,  we  need  not  trouble  our- 
selves so  much  about  their  shape  or  balance,  and  therefore  the 
plan  at  f  is  a  peculiarly  wooden  construction  (the  reader  will 
doubtless  recognise  in  it  the  profile  of  many  a  farm-house 
roof)  :  and  again,  because  beams  are  tough,  and  light,  and 
long,  as  compared  with  stones,  they  are  admirably  adapted 
for  the  constructions  at  A  and  B,  the  plain  lintel  and  gable, 
while  that  at  G  is,  for  the  most  part,  left  to  brick  and  stone. 

§  iv.  But  farther.  The  constructions,  A,  B,  and  C,  though 
very  conveniently  to  be  first  considered  as  composed  of  one, 
two,  and  three  pieces,  are  by  no  means  necessarily  so.  When 
we  have  once  cut  the  stones  of  the  arch  into  a  shape  like  that 
of  k,  I,  and  m,  they  will  hold  together,  whatever  their  number, 
place,  or  size,  as  at  n  ;  and  the  great  value  of  the  arch  is,  that 
it  permits  small  stones  to  be  used  with  safety  instead  of  large 
ones,  which  are  not  always  to  be  had.  Stones  cut  into  the 
shape  of  k,  I,  and  m,  whether  they  be  short  or  long  (I  have 
drawn  them  all  sizes  at  n  on  purpose),  are  called  Voussoirs  ; 
this  is  a  hard,  ugly  French  name  ;  but  the  reader  will  per- 
haps be  kind  enough  to  recollect  it  ;  it  will  save  us  both  some 
trouble  :  and  to  make  amends  for  this  infliction,  I  will  relieve 
him  of  the  term  keystone.  One  voussoir  is  as  much  a  keystone 
as  another  ;  only  people  usually  call  the  stone  which  is  last 
put  in  the  keystone  ;  and  that  one  happens  generally  to  be  at 
the  top  or  middle  of  the  arch. 

§  v.  Not  only  the  arch,  but  even  the  lintel,  may  be  built  of 
many  stones  or  bricks.  The  reader  may  see  lintels  built  in 
this  way  over  most  of  the  windows  of  our  brick  London 
houses,  and  so  also  the  gable  :  there  are,  therefore,  two  dis- 
tinct questions  respecting  each  arrangement  : — First,  what  is 
the  line  or  direction  of  it,  which  gives  it  its  strength  ?  and, 
secondly,  what  is  the  manner  of  masonry  of  it,  which  gives  it 
its  consistence  ?  The  first  of  these  I  shall  consider  in  this 
Chapter  under  the  head  of  the  Arch  Line,  using  the  term  arch 
as  including  all  manner  of  construction  (though  we  shall 


132 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


have  no  trouble  except  about  curves)  ;  and  in  the  next  Chap 
ter  I  shall  consider  the  second,  under  the  head,  Arch  Masonry. 

§  vi.  Now  the  arch  line  is  the  ghost  or  skeleton  of  the  arch  ; 
or  rather  it  is  the  spinal  marrow  of  the  arch,  and  the  vous- 
soirs  are  the  vertebrae,  which  keep  it  safe  and  sound,  and  clothe 
it.  This  arch  line  the  architect  has  first  to  conceive  and  shape 
in  his  mind,  as  opposed  to,  or  having  to  bear,  certain  forces 
which  will  try  to  distort  it  this  way  and  that ;  and  against 
which  he  is  first  to  direct  and  bend  the  line  itself  into  as 
strong  resistance  as  he  may,  and  then,  with  his  voussoirs  and 
what  else  he  can,  to  guard  it,  and  help  it,  and  keep  it  to  its 
duty  and  in  its  shape.  So  the  arch  line  is  the  moral  charac- 
ter of  the  arch,  and  the  adverse  forces  are  its  temptations ; 
and  the  voussoirs,  and  what  else  we  may  help  it  with,  are  its 
armor  and  its  motives  to  good  conduct. 

§  vii.  This  moral  character  of  the  arch  is  called  by  archi- 
tects its  "Line  of  Resistance."  There  is  a  great  deal  of  nicety 
in  calculating  it  with  precision,  just  as  there  is  sometimes  in 
finding  out  very  precisely  what  is  a  man's  true  line  of  moral 
conduct ;  but  this,  in  arch  morality  and  in  man  morality,  is  a 
very  simple  and  easily  to  be  understood  principle, — that  if 
either  arch  or  man  expose  themselves  to  their  special  tempta- 
tions or  adverse  forces,  outside  of  the  voussoirs  or  proper  and 
appointed  armor,  both  will  fall.  An  arch  whose  line  of  resist- 
ance is  in  the  middle  of  its  voussoirs  is  perfectly  safe  :  in  pro- 
portion as  the  said  line  runs  near  the  edge  of  its  voussoirs, 
the  arch  is  in  danger,  as  the  man  is  who  nears  temptation  ; 
and  the  moment  the  line  of  resistance  emerges  out  of  the 
voussoirs  the  arch  falls. 

§  viii.  There  are,  therefore,  properly  speaking,  two  arch 
lines.  One  is  the  visible  direction  or  curve  of  the  arch,  which 
may  generally  be  considered  as  the  under  edge  of  its  vous- 
soirs, and  which  has  often  no  more  to  do  with  the  real  stabil- 
ity of  the  arch,  than  a  man's  apparent  conduct  has  with  his 
heart.  The  other  line,  which  is  the  line  of  resistance,  or  line 
of  good  behavior,  may  or  may  not  be  consistent  with  the  out- 
ward and  apparent  curves  of  the  arch  ;  but  if  not,  then  the 
security  of  the  arch  depends  simply  upon  this,  whether  the 


THE  ARCH  LINE. 


133 


voussoirs  which  assume  or  pretend  to  the  one  line  are  wide 
enough  to  include  the  other. 

§  ix.  Now  when  the  reader  is  told  that  the  line  of  resistance 
varies  with  every  change  either  in  place  or  quantity  of  the 
weight  above  the  arch,  he  will  see  at  once  that  we  have  no 
chance  of  arranging  arches  by  their  moral  characters  :  we  can 
only  take  the  apparent  arch  line,  or  visible  direction,  as  a 
ground  of  arrangement.  We  shall  consider  the  possible  or 
probable  forms  or  contours  of  arches  in  the  present  Chapter, 
and  in  the  succeeding  one  the  forms  of  voussoir  and  other 
help  which  may  best  fortify  these  visible  lines  against  every 
temptation  to  lose  their  consistency. 

§  x.  Look  back  to  Fig.  XXIX.  Evidently  the  abstract  or 
ghost  line  of  the  arrangement  at  A  is  a  plain  horizontal  line, 
as  here  at  a,  Fig.  XXX. 

The  abstract  line  of  the  A 


suppose  c,  Pig.   XXX.  PlG  xxx 

Then,  as  b  is  two  of  the 

straight  lines  at  a,  set  up  against  each  other,  we  may  conceive 
an  arrangement,  d,  made  up  of  two  of  the  curved  lines  at  c, 
set  against  each  other.  This  is  called  a  pointed  arch,  which 
is  a  contradiction  in  terms  :  *it  ought  to  be  called  a  curved 
gable  ;  but  it  must  keep  the  name  it  has  got. 

Now  a,  b,  c,  d,  Fig.  XXX.,  are  the  ghosts  of  the  lintel,  the 
gable,  the  arch,  and  the  pointed  arch.  With  the  poor  lintel 
ghost  we  need  trouble  ourselves  no  farther ;  there  are  no 
changes  in  him  :  but  there  is  much  variety  in  the  other  three, 
and  the  method  of  their  variety  will  be  best  discerned  by 
studying  b  and  d,  as  subordinate  to  and  connected  with  the  ^ 
simple  arch  at  a 


against  each  other,  as 
here  at  b.    The  abstract 


arrangement  at  B,  Fig. 
XXIX,  is  composed  of 
two  straight   lines,  set  # 


line  of  C,  Fig.  XXIX,  is 
a  curve  of  some  kind,  not 
at  present  determined, 


134 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


§  xi.  Many  architects,  especially  the  worst,  have  been  very 
curious  in  designing  out  of  the  way  arches, — elliptical  arches, 
and  four-centred  arches,  so  called,  and  other  singularities. 
The  good  architects  have  generally  been  content,  and  we  for 
the  present  will  be  so,  with  God's  arch,  the  arch  of  the  rain- 
bow and  of  the  apparent  heaven,  and  which  the  sun  shapes 
for  us  as  it  sets  and  rises.  Let  us  watch  the  sun  for  a  moment 
as  it  climbs :  when  it  is  a  quarter  up,  it  will  give  us  the  arch 
a,  Fig.  XXXI.  ;  when  it  is  half  up,  b,  and  when  three  quarters 


Fig.  XXXI. 


up,  c.  There  will  be  an  infinite  number  of  arches  between 
these,  but  we  will  take  these  as  sufficient  representatives  of  all. 
Then  a  is  the  low  arch,  b  the  central  or  pure  arch,  c  the  high 
arch,  and  the  rays  of  the  sun  would  have  drawn  for  us  their 
voussoirs. 

§  xii.  We  will  take  these  several  arches  successively,  and 
fixing  the  top  of  each  accurately,  draw  two  right  lines  thence 
to  its  base,  d,  e,  f,  Fig.  XXXI.  Then  these  lines  give  us  the 
relative  gables  of  each  of  the  arches  ;  d  is  the  Italian  or  south* 
era  gable,  e  the  central  gable,  /  the  Gothic  gable. 


THE  ARCJI  LINE. 


135 


§  xiii.  We  will  again  take  the  three  arches  with  their  gables 
in  succession,  and  on  each  of  the  sides  of  the  gable,  between 
it  and  the  arch,  we  will  describe  another  arch,  as  at  g,  h,  L 
Then  the  curves  so  described  give  the  pointed  arches  belong- 
ing to  each  of  the  round  arches  ;  g,  the  flat  pointed  arch, 
the  central  pointed  arch,  and  i,  the  lancet  pointed  arch. 

§  xiv.  If  the  radius  with  which  these  intermediate  curves 
are  drawn  be  the  base  of/,  the  last  is  the  equilateral  pointed 
arch,  one  of  great  importance  in  Gothic  work.  But  between 
the  gable  and  circle,  in  all  the  three  figures,  there  are  an  infi- 
nite number  of  pointed  arches,  describable  with  different  radii ; 
and  the  three  round  arches,  be  it  remembered,  are  themselves 
representatives  of  an  infinite  number,  passing  from  the  flattest 
conceivable  curve,  through  the  semicircle  and  horseshoe,  up 
to  the  full  circle. 

The  central  and  the  last  group  are  the  most  important. 
The  central  round,  or  semicircle,  is  the  Koman,  the  Byzan- 
tine, and  Norman  arch  ;  and  its  relative  pointed  includes  one 
wide  branch  of  Gothic.  The  horseshoe  round  is  the  Arabic 
and  Moorish  arch,  and  its  relative  pointed  includes  the  whole 
range  of  Arabic  and  lancet,  or  Early  English  and  French 
Gothics.  I  mean  of  course  by  the  relative  pointed,  the  entire 
group  of  which  the  equilateral  arch  is  the  rep- 
resentative. Between  it  and  the  outer  horce- 
shoe,  as  this  latter  rises  higher,  the  reader 
will  find,  on  experiment,  the  great  families  of 
what  may  be  called  the  horseshoe  pointed, — 
curves  of  the  highest  importance,  but  which 
are  all  included,  with  English  lancet,  under  the  term,  relative 
pointed  of  the  horseshoe  arch. 

§  xv.  The  groups  above  described  are  all  formed  of  eirculai 
arcs,  and  include  all  truly  useful  and  beautiful  arches  for 
ordinary  work.  I  believe  that  singular  and  complicated 
curves  are  made  use  of  in  madern  engineering,  but  with  these 
the  general  reader  can  have  no  concern  :  the  Ponte  della 
Trinita  at  Florence  is  the  most  graceful  instance  I  know  of 
such  structure  ;  the  arch  made  use  of  being  very  subtle,  and 
approximating  to  the  low  ellipse  ;  for  which,  in  common  work3 


136 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


a  barbarous  pointed  arch,  called  four-centred,  and  composed 
of  bits  of  circles,  is  substituted  by  the  English  builders.  The 
high  ellipse,  I  believe,  exists  in  eastern  architecture.  I  have 
never  myself  met  with  it  on  a  large  scale  ;  but  it  occurs  in  the 
niches  of  the  later  portions  of  the  Ducal  palace  at  Venice,  to- 
gether with  a  singular  hyperbolic  arch,  a  in  Fig.  XXXIII.,  to 
be  described  hereafter  :  with  such  caprices  we  are  not  here 
concerned. 

§  xvi.  We  are,  however,  concerned  to  notice  the  absurdity 
of  another  form  of  arch,  which,  with  the  four-centred,  belongs 
to  the  English  perpendicular  Gothic. 

Taking  the  gable  of  any  of  the  groups  in  Fig.  XXXI.  (sup- 
pose the  equilateral),  here  at  b,  in  Fig.  XXXIII.,  the  dotted 


line  representing  the  relative  pointed  arch,  we  may  evidently 
conceive  an  arch  formed  by  reversed  curves  on  the  inside  of 
the  gable,  as  here  shown  by  the  inner  curved  lines.  I  imag- 
ine the  reader  by  this  time  knows  enough  of  the  nature  of 
arches  to  understand  that,  whatever  strength  or  stability  was 
gained  by  the  curve  on  the  outside  of  the  gable,  exactly  so 
much  is  lost  by  curves  on  the  inside.  The  natural  tendency 
of  such  an  arch  to  dissolution  by  its  own  mere  weight  renders 
it  a  feature  of  detestable  ugliness,  wherever  it  occurs  on  a 
large  scale.  It  is  eminently  characteristic  of  Tudor  work,  and 
it  is  the  profile  of  the  Chinese  roof  (I  say  on  a  large  scale,  be- 
cause this  as  well  as  all  other  capricious  arches,  may  be  made 
secure  by  their  masonry  when  small,  but  not  otherwise). 
Some  allowable  modifications  of  it  will  be  noticed  in  the 
chapter  on  Roofs. 

§  xvii.  There  is  only  one  more  form  of  arch  which  we  have 
to  notice.    When  the  last  described  arch  is  used,  not  as  the 


Fig.  XXXIII. 


THE  ARCH  MASONRY. 


137 


principal  arrangement,  but  as  a  mere  heading  to  a  common 
pointed  arch,  we  have  the  form  c,  Fig.  XXXIII.  Now  this 
is  better  than  the  entirely  reversed  arch  for  two  reasons  ;  first, 
less  of  the  line  is  weakened  by  reversing  ;  secondly,  the  double 
curve  has  a  very  high  aesthetic  value,  not  existing  in  the  mere 
segments  of  circles.  For  these  reasons  arches  of  this  kind  are 
not  only  admissible,  but  even  of  great  desirableness,  when 
their  scale  and  masonry  render  them  secure,  but  above  a  cer- 
tain scale  they  are  altogether  barbarous  ;  and,  with  the  re- 
versed Tudor  arch,  wantonly  employed,  are  the  characteristics 
of  the  worst  and  meanest  schools  of  architecture,  past  or 
present. 

This  double  curve  is  called  the  Ogee  ;  it  is  the  profile  of  ^ 
many  German  leaden  roofs,  of  many  Turkish  domes  (there 
more  excusable,  because  associated  and  in  sympathy  with  ex- 
quisitely managed  arches  of  the  same  line  in  the  walls  below), 
of  Tudor  turrets,  as  in  Henry  the  Seventh's  Chapel,  and  it  is 
at  the  bottom  or  top  of  sundry  other  blunders  all  over  the 
world. 

§  xvin.  The  varieties  of  the  ogee  curve  are  infinite,  as  the 
reversed  portion  of  it  may  be  engrafted  on  every  other  form 
of  arch,  horseshoe,  round,  or  pointed.  Whatever  is  generally 
worth  of  note  in  these  varieties,  and  in  other  arches  of 
caprice,  we  shall  best  discover  by  examining  their  masonry  ; 
for  it  is  by  their  good  masonry  only  that  they  are  rendered 
either  stable  or  beautiful.  To  this  question,  then,  let  us 
address  ourselves. 


CHAPTEE  XI. 

THE  ARCH  MASONRY. 

§  i.  On  the  subject  of  the  stability  of  arches,  volumes  have 
been  written  and  volumes  more  are  required.  The  reader 
will  not,  therefore,  expect  from  me  any  very  complete  ex- 
planation of  its  conditions  within  the  limits  of  a  single  chap- 
ter. But  that  which  is  necessary  for  him  to  know  is  very 
simple  and  very  easy  ;  and  yet,  I  believe,  some  part  of  it  is 
very  little  known,  or  noticed. 


138. 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


We  must  first  have  a  clear  idea  of  what  is  meant  by  an 
arch.  It  is  a  curved  shell  of  firm  materials,  on  whose  back  a 
burden  is  to  be  laid  of  loose  materials.  So  far  as  the  materials 
above  it  are  not  loose,  but  themselves  hold  together,  the  open- 
ing below  is  not  an  arch,  but  an  excavation.  Note  this  differ- 
ence very  carefully.  If  the  King  of  Sardinia  tunnels  through 
the  Mont  Cenis,  as  he  proposes,  he  will  not  require  to  build 
a  brick  arch  under  his  tunnel  to  carry  the  weight  of  the  Mont 
Cenis :  that  would  need  scientific  masonry  indeed.  The 
Mont  Cenis  will  carry  itself,  by  its  own  cohesion,  and  a 
succession  of  invisible  granite  arches,  rather  larger  than  the 
tunnel.  But  when  Mr.  Brunei  tunnelled  the  Thames  bottom, 
he  needed  to  build  a  brick  arch  to  carry  the  six  or  seven  feet 
of  mud  and  the  weight  of  water  above.  That  is  a  type  of  all 
arches  proper. 

§  ii.  Now  arches,  in  practice,  partake  of  the  nature  of  the 
two.  So  far  as  their  masonry  above  is  Mont-Cenisian,  that  is 
to  say,  colossal  in  comparison  of  them,  and  granitic,  so  that 
the  arch  is  a  mere  hole  in  the  rock  substance  of  it,  the  form 
of  the  arch  is  of  no  consequence  whatever  :  it  may  be  rounded, 
or  lozenged,  or  ogee'd,  or  anything  else  ;  and  in  the  noblest 
architecture  there  is  always  some  character  of  this  kind  given 
to  the  masonry.  It  is  independent  enough  not  to  care  about 
the  holes  cut  in  it,  and  does  not  subside  into  them  like  sand. 
But  the  theory  of  arches  does  not  presume  on  any  such  con- 
dition of  things  ;  it  allows  itself  only  the  shell  of  the  arch 
proper  ;  the  vertebrae,  carrying  their  marrow  of  resistance  ; 
and,  above  this  shell,  it  assumes  the  wall  to  be  in  a  state  of 
flux,  bearing  down  on  the  arch,  like  water  or  sand,  with  its 
whole  weight.  And  farther,  the  problem  which  is  to  be 
solved  by  the  arch  builder  is  not  merely  to  carry  this  weight, 
but  to  carry  it  with  the  least  thickness  of  shell.  It  is  easy  to 
carry  it  by  continually  thickening  your  voussoirs  :  if  you  have 
six  feet  depth  of  sand  or  gravel  to  carry,  and  you  choose  to 
employ  granite  voussoirs  six  feet  thick,  no  question  but  your 
arch  is  safe  enough.  But  it  is  perhaps  somewhat  too  costly  . 
the  thing  to  be  done  is  to  carry  the  sand  or  gravel  with  brick 
voussoirs,  six  inches  thick,  or,  at  any  rate,  with  the  least 


Plate  III. — Alien  Masonry. 


THE  ARCH  MASONRY. 


139 


thickness  of  voussoir  which  will  be  safe  ;  and  to  do  this  re- 
quires peculiar  arrangement  of  the  lines  of  the  arch.  There 
are  many  arrangements,  useful  all  in  their  way,  but  we  have 
only  to  do,  in  the  best  architecture,  with  the  simplest  and 
most  easily  understood.  We  have  first  to  note  those  which 
regard  the  actual  shell  of  the  arch,  and  then  we  shall  give  a 
few  examples  of  the  superseding  of  such  expedients  by  Mont- 
Cenisian  masonry. 

§  in.  What  we  have  to  say  will  apply  to  all  arches,  but  the 
central  pointed  arch  is  the  best  for  general  illustration.  Let 
a,  Plate  III.,  be  the  shell  of  a  pointed  arch  with  loose  loading 
above ;  and  suppose  you  find  that  shell  not  quite  thick 
enough ;  and  that  the  weight  bears  too  heavily  on  the  top  of 
the  arch,  and  is  likely  to  break  it  in  :  you  proceed  to  thicken 
your  shell,  but  need  you  thicken  it  all  equally  ?  Not  so  ;  you 
would  only  waste  your  good  voussoirs.  If  you  have  any  com- 
mon sense  you  will  thicken  it  at  the  top,  where  a  Mylodon's 
skull  is  thickened  for  the  same  purpose  (and  some  human 
skulls,  I  fancy),  as  at  b.  The  pebbles  and  gravel  above  will 
now  shoot  off  it  right  and  left,  as  the  bullets  do  off  a  cuiras- 
sier's breastplate,  and  will  have  no  chance  of  beating  it  in. 

If  still  it  be  not  strong  enough,  a  farther  addition  may  be 
made,  as  at  c,  now  thickening  the  voussoirs  a  little  at  the 
base  also.  But  as  this  may  perhaps  throw  the  arch  incon- 
veniently high,  or  occasion  a  waste  of  voussoirs  at  the  top, 
we  may  employ  another  expedient. 

§  iv.  I  imagine  the  reader's  common  sense,  if  not  his  pre- 
vious knowledge,  will  enable  him  to  understand  that  if  the 
arch  at  a,  Plate  III.,  burst  in  at  the  top,  it  must  burst  out  at 
the  sides.  Set  up  two  pieces  of  pasteboard,  edge  to  edge, 
and  press  them  down  with  your  hand,  and  you  will  see  them 
bend  out  at  the  sides.  Therefore,  if  you  can  keep  the  arch 
from  starting  out  at  the  points  p,  p,  it  cannot  curve  in  at  the 
top,  put  what  weight  on  it  you  will,  unless  by  sheer  crushing 
of  the  stones  to  fragments. 

§  v.  Now  you  may  keep  the  arch  from  starting  out  at  p  by 
loading  it  at  p,  putting  more  weight  upon  it  and  against  it  at 
that  point  ;  and  this,  in  practice,  is  the  way  it  is  usually  done. 


140 


THE  STONES  OE  VENICE. 


But  we  assume  at  present  that  the  weight  above  is  sand  of 
water,  quite  unmanageable,  not  to  be  directed  to  the  points 
we  choose  ;  and  in  practice,  it  may  sometimes  happen  that 
we  cannot  put  weight  upon  the  arch  at  p.  We  may  perhaps 
want  an  opening  above  it,  or  it  may  be  at  the  side  of  the 
building,  and  many  other  circumstances  may  occur  to  hinder 
us. 

§  vi.  But  if  we  are  not  sure  that  we  can  put  weight  above 
it,  we  are  perfectly  sure  that  we  can  hang  weight  under  it. 
You  may  always  thicken  your  shell  inside,  and  put  the  weight 
upon  it  as  at  x  x,  in  d,  Plate  311.  Not  much  chance  of  its 
bursting  out  at  p,  now,  is  there  ? 

§  vii.  Whenever,  therefore,  an  arch  has  to  bear  vertical 
pressure,  it  will  bear  it  better  when  its  shell  is  shaped  as  at  b 
or  d,  than  as  at  a:  b  and  d  are,  therefore,  the  types  of  arches 
built  to  resist  vertical  pressure,  all  over  the  world,  and  from 
the  beginning  of  architecture  to  its  end.  None  others  can  be 
compared  with  them  :  all  are  imperfect  except  these. 

The  added  projections  at  x  x,  in  d,  are  called  Cusps,  and 
they  are  the  very  soul  and  life  of  the  best  northern  Gothic  ; 
yet  never  thoroughly  understood  nor  found  in  perfection, 
except  in  Italy,  the  northern  builders  working  often,  even  in 
the  best  times,  with  the  vulgar  form  at  a. 

The  form  at  b  is  rarely  found  in  the  north  :  its  perfection 
is  in  the  Lombardic  Gothic  ;  and  branches  of  it,  good  and  bad 
according  to  their  use,  occur  in  Saracenic  work. 

§  viii.  The  true  and  perfect  cusp  is  single  only.  But  it 
was  probably  invented  (by  the  Arabs  ?)  not  as  a  constructive, 
but  a  decorative  feature,  in  pure  fantasy  ;  and  in  early  northern 
work  it  is  only  the  application  to  the  arch  of  the  foliation,  so 
called,  of  penetrated  spaces  in  stone  surfaces,  already  enough 
explained  in  the  "  Seven  Lamps,"  Chap.  III.,  p.  85  et  seq.  It 
is  degraded  in  dignity,  and  loses  its  usefulness,  exactly  in 
proportion  to  its  multiplication  on  the  arch.  In  later  archi- 
tecture, especially  English  Tudor,  it  is  sunk  into  dotage,  and 
becomes  a  simple  excrescence,  a  bit  of  stone  pinched  up  out 
of  the  arch,  as  a  cook  pinches  the  paste  at  the  edge  of  a  pie. 

§  ix.  The  depth  and  place  of  the  cusp,  that  is  to  say,  its 


Plate  IV.—  Arch  Masonry. 


THE  ARC II  MASONRY. 


14} 


exact  application  to  the  shoulder  of  the  curve  of  the  arch, 
varies  with  the  direction  of  the  weight  to  be  sustained.  I  have 
spent  more  than  a  month,  and  that  in  hard  work  too,  in  merely 
trying  to  get  the  forms  of  cusps  into  perfect  order  :  whereby 
the  reader  may  guess  that  I  have  not  space  to  go  into  the 
subject  now ;  but  I  shall  hereafter  give  a  few  of  the  leading 
and  most  perfect  examples,  with  their  measures  and  masonry* 

§  x.  The  reader  now  understands  all  that  he  need  about 
the  shell  of  the  arch,  considered  as  an  united  piece  of  stone. 

He  has  next  to  consider  the  shape  of  the  voussoirs.  This, 
as  much  as  is  required,  he  will  be  able  best  to  comprehend  by 
a  few  examples  ;  by  which  I  shall  be  able  also  to  illustrate,  or 
rather  wrhich  will  force  me  to  illustrate,  some  of  the  methods 
of  Mont-Cenisian  masonry,  which  wrere  to  be  the  second  part 
of  our  subject. 

§  xr.  1  and  2,  Plate  IV.,  are  two  cornices  ;  1  from  St. 
Antonio,  Padua  ;  2,  from  the  Cathedral  of  Sens.  I  want  them 
for  cornices  ;  but  I  have  put  them  in  this  plate  because, 
though  their  arches  are  filled  up  behind,  and  are  in  fact  mere 
blocks  of  stone  with  arches  cut  into  their  faces,  they  illustrate 
the  constant  masonry  of  small  arches,  both  in  Italian  and 
Northern  Eomanesque,  but  especially  Italian,  each  arch  being 
cut  out  of  its  own  proper  block  of  stone  :  this  is  Mont- 
Cenisian  enough,  on  a  small  scale. 

3  is  a  window  from  Carnarvon  Castle,  and  very  primitive 
and  interesting  in  manner, — one  of  its  arches  being  of  one 
stone,  the  other  of  two.  And  here  we  have  an  instance  of  a 
form  of  arch  which  would  be  barbarous  enough  on  a  large 
scale,  and  of  many  pieces  ;  but  quaint  and  agreeable  thus 
massively  built. 

4  is  from  a  little  belfry  in  a  Swiss  village  above  Vevay  ;  one 
fancies  the  window  of  an  absurd  form,  seen  in  the  distance, 
but  one  is  pleased  with  it  on  seeing  its  masonry.  It  could 
hardly  be  stronger. 

§  xii.  These  then  are  arches  cut  of  one  block.  The  next 
step  is  to  form  them  of  two  pieces,  set  together  at  the  head 
of  the  arch.  6,  from  the  Eremitani,  Padua,  is  very  quaint 
and  primitive  in  manner  :  it  is  a  curious  church  altogether, 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE 


and  has  some  strange  traceries  cat  out  of  single  blocks.  One 
is  given  in  the  "Seven  Lamps,"  Plate  VII,  in  the  left-hand 
corner  at  the  bottom. 

7,  from  the  Frari,  Venice,  very  firm  and  fine,  and  admirably 
decorated,  as  we  shall  see  hereafter.  5,  the  simple  two-pieced 
construction,  wrought  with  the  most  exquisite  proportion  and 
precision  of  workmanship,  as  is  everything  else  in  the  glorious 
church  to  which  it  belongs,  San  Fermo  of  Verona.  The  ad- 
dition of  the  top  piece,  which  completes  the  circle,  does  not 
affect  the  plan  of  the  beautiful  arches,  with  their  simple  and 
perfect  cusps ;  but  it  is  highly  curious,  and  serves  to  show 
how  the  idea  of  the  cusp  rose  out  of  mere  foliation.  The 
whole  of  the  architecture  of  this  church  may  be  characterised 
as  exhibiting  the  maxima  of  simplicity  in  construction,  and 
perfection  in  workmanship, — a  rare  unison  :  for,  in  general, 
simple  designs  are  rudely  worked,  and  as  the  builder  perfects 
his  execution,  he  complicates  his  plan.  Nearly  all  the  arches 
of  San  Fermo  are  two-pieced. 

§  xni.  We  have  seen  the  construction  with  one  and  two 
pieces :  a  and  b,  Fig.  8,  Plate  IV,  are  the  general  types  of 
the  construction  with  three  pieces,  uncusped  and  cusped  ;  c 
and  d  with  five  pieces,  uncusped  and  cusped.  Of  these  the 
three-pieced  construction  is  of  enormous  importance,  and  must 
detain  us  some  time.  The  five-pieced  is  the  three-pieced  with 
a  joint  added  on  each  side,  and  is  also  of  great  importance. 
The  four-pieced,  which  is  the  two-pieced  with  added  joints, 
rarely  occurs,  and  need  not  detain  us. 

§  xiv.  It  will  be  remembered  that  in  first  working  out  the 
principle  of  the  arch,  we  composed  the  arch  of  three  pieces. 
Three  is  the  smallest  number  which  can  exhibit  the  real 
principle  of  arch  masonr}^  and  it  may  be  considered  as  repre- 
sentative of  all  arches  built  on  that  principle  ;  the  one  and 
two-pieced  arches  being  microscopic  Mont-Cenisian,  mere 
caves  in  blocks  of  stone,  or  gaps  between  two  rocks  leaning 
together. 

But  the  three-pieced  arch  is  properly  representative  of  all ; 
and  the  larger  and  more  complicated  constructions  are  merely 
produced  by  keeping  the  central  piece  for  what  is  called  a 


TEE  ARCH  MASONRY. 


143 


keystone,  and  putting  additional  joints  at  the  sides.  Now  so 
long  as  an  arch  is  pure  circular  or  pointed,  it  does  not  matter 
how  many  joints  or  voussoirs  you  have,  nor  where  the  joints 
are  ;  nay,  you  may  joint  your  keystone  itself,  and  make  it 
two-pieced.  But  if  the  arch  be  of  any  bizarre  form,  espe- 
dally  ogee,  the  joints  must  be  in  particular  places,  and  the 
masonry  simple,  or  it  will  not  be  thoroughly  good  and  secure  ; 
and  the  fine  schools  of  the  ogee  arch  have  only  arisen  in 
countries  where  it  was  the  custom  to  build  arches  of  few 
pieces. 

§  xv.  The  typical  pure  pointed  arch  of  Venice  is  a  five- 
pieced  arch,  with  its  stones  in  three  orders  of  magnitude,  the 
longest  being  the  lowest,  as  at  b>2,  Plate  III.  If  the  arch  be 
very  large,  a  fourth  order  of  magnitude  is  added,  as  at  «... 
The  portals  of  the  palaces  of  Venice  have  one  or  other  of 
these  masonries,  almost  without  exception.  Now,  as  one 
piece  is  added  to  make  a  larger  door,  one  piece  is  taken  away 
to  make  a  smaller  one,  or  a  window,  and  the  masonry  type  of 
the  Venetian  Gothic  window  is  consequently  three-pieced, 

§  xvi.  The  reader  knows  already  where  a  cusp  is  useful.  It 
is  wanted,  he  will  remember,  to  give  weight  to  those  side 
stones,  and  draw  them  inwards  against  the  thrust  of  the  top 
stone.  Take  one  of  the  side  stones  of  c2  out  for  a  moment,  as 
at  d.  Now  the  proper  place  of  the  cusp  upon  it  varies  with 
the  weight  which  it  bears  or  requires  ;  but  in  practice  this 
nicety  is  rarely  observed  ;  the  place  of  the  cusp  is  almost  al- 
ways determined  by  aesthetic  considerations,  and  it  is  evident 
that  the  variations  in  its  place  may  be  infinite.  Consider  the 
cusp  as  a  wave  passing  up  the  side  stone  from  its  bottom  to  its 
top  ;  then  you  will  have  the  succession  of  forms  from  e,  to  g 
(Plate  III.),  with  infinite  degrees  of  transition  from  each  to 
each  ;  but  of  which  you  may  take  e,f9  and  g,  as  representing 
three  great  families  of  cusped  arches.  Use  e  for  your  side 
stones,  and  you  have  an  arch  as  that  at  h  below,  which  may 
be  called  a  down-cusped  arch.  Use  f  for  the  side  stone,  and 
you  have  i,  which  may  be  called  a  mid-cusped  arch.  Use  gs 
and  you  have  k,  an  up-cusped  arch. 

§  xvn.  The  reader  will  observe  that  I  call  the  arch  mid- 


144 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


cusped,  not  when  the  cusped  point  is  in  the  middle  of  the 
curve  of  the  arch,  but  when  it  is  in  the  middle  of  the  side 
piece,  and  also  that  where  the  side  pieces  join  the  keystone 
there  will  be  a  change,  perhaps  somewhat  abrupt,  in  the  cur- 
vature. 

I  have  preferred  to  call  the  arch  mid-cusped  with  respect 
to  its  side  piece  than  with  respect  to  its  own  curve,  because 
the  most  beautiful  Gothic  arches  in  the  world,  those  of  the 
Lombard  Gothic,  have,  in  all  the  instances  I  have  examined, 
a  form  more  or  less  approximating  to  this  mid-cusped  one  at 
i  (Plate  III.),  but  having  the  curvature  of  the  cusp  carried 
up  into  the  keystone,  as  we  shall  see  presently  :  where,  how- 
ever, the  arch  is  built  of  many  voussoirs,  a  mid-cusped  arch 
will  mean  one  which  has  the  point  of  the  cusp  midway  be- 
tween its  own  base  and  apex. 

The  Gothic  arch  of  Venice  is  almost  invariably  up-cusped 
as  at  k.  The  reader  may  note  that,  in  both  down-cusped  and 
up-cusped  arches,  the  piece  of  stone,  added  to  form  the  cusp, 
is  of  the  shape  of  a  scymitar,  held  down  in  the  one  case  and 
up  in  the  other. 

§  xvin.  Now,  in  the  arches  h,  i,  k,  a  slight  modification  has 
been  made  in  the  form  of  the  central  piece,  in  order  that  it 
may  continue  the  curve  of  the  cusp.  This  modification  is  not 
to  be  given  to  it  in  practice  without  considerable  nicety  of 
workmanship  ;  and  some  curious  results  took  place  in  Venice 
from  this  difficulty. 

At  I  (Plate  III.)  is  the  shape  of  the  Venetian  side  stone, 
wdth  its  cusp  detached  from  the  arch.  Nothing  can  possibly 
be  better  or  more  graceful,  or  have  the  weight  better  disposed 
in  order  to  cause  it  to  nod  forwards  against  the  keystone,  as 
above  explained,  Ch.  X.  §  il,  where  I  developed  the  whole 
^stem  of  the  arch  from  three  pieces,  in  order  that  the  reader 
might  now  clearly  see  the  use  of  the  weight  of  the  cusp. 

Now  a  Venetian  Gothic  palace  has  usually  at  least  three 
stories  ;  with  perhaps  ten  or  twelve  windows  in  each  story, 
and  this  on  two  or  three  of  its  sides,  requiring  altogether 
some  hundred  to  a  hundred  and  fifty  side  pieces. 

I  have  no  doubt,  from  observation  of  the  way  the  windows 


THE  ARCH  MASONRY. 


145 


are  set  together,  that  the  side  pieces  were  carved  in  pairs, 
like  hooks,  of  which  the  keystones  were  to  be  the  eyes  ;  that 
these  side  pieces  were  ordered  by  the  architect  in  the  gross, 
and  were  used  by  him  sometimes  for  wider,  sometimes  for 
narrower  windows  ;  bevelling  the  two  ends  as  required,  fit- 
ting in  keystones  as  he  best  could,  and  now  and  then  varying 
the  arrangement  by  turning  the  side  pieces  upside  down. 

There  were  various  conveniences  in  this  way  of  working", 
one  of  the  principal  being  that  the  side  pieces  with  their  cusps 
were  always  cut  to  their  complete  form,  and  that  no  part  of 
the  cusp  was  carried  out  into  the  keystone,  which  followed  the 
curve  of  the  outer  arch  itself.  The  ornaments  of  the  cusp 
might  thus  be  worked  without  any  troublesome  reference  to 
the  rest  of  the  arch. 

§  xix.  Now  let  us  take  a  pair  of  side  pieces,  made  to  order, 
like  that  at  Z,  and  see  what  we  can  make  of  them.  "We  will 
try  to  fit  them  first  with  a  keystone  which  continues  the 
curve  of  the  outer  arch,  as  at  m.  This  the  reader  assuredly 
thinks  an  ugly  arch.  There  are  a  great  many  of  them  in 
Venice,  the  ugliest  things  there,  and  the  Venetian  builders 
quickly  began  to  feel  them  so.  What  could  they  do  to  bet- 
ter them  ?  The  arch  at  m  has  a  central  piece  of  the  form  r. 
Substitute  for  it  a  piece  of  the  form  s,  and  we  have  the  arch 
at  n. 

§  xx.  This  arch  at  n  is  not  so  strong  as  that  at  m  ;  but, 
built  of  good  marble,  and  with  its  pieces  of  proper  thickness, 
it  is  quite  strong  enough  for  all  practical  purposes  on  a 
small  scale.  I  have  examined  at  least  two  thousand  windows 
of  this  kind  and  of  the  other  Venetian  ogees,  of  which  that  at 
y  (in  which  the  plain  side-piece  d  is  used  instead  of  the 
cusped  one)  is  the  simplest  ;  and  I  never  found  one,  even  in 
the  most  ruinous  palaces  (in  which  they  had  had  to  sustain  the 
distorted  weight  of  falling  walls)  in  which  the  central  piece 
was  fissured  ;  and  this  is  the  only  danger  to  which  the  win- 
dow is  exposed  ;  in  other  respects  it  is  as  strong  an  arch  as 
can  be  built. 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  the  change  from  the  r  keystona 
to  the  s  keystone  was  instantaneous.   It  was  a  change  wrought 
Vol.  L— 10 


146 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


out  by  many  curious  experiments,  which  we  shall  have  to 
trace  hereafter,  and  to  throw  the  resultant  varieties  of  form 
into  their  proper  groups. 

§  xxi.  One  step  more  :  I  take  a  mid-cusped  side  piece  in 
its  block  form  at  t,  with  the  bricks  which  load  the  back  of  it. 
Now,  as  these  bricks  support  it  behind,  and  since,  as  far  as 
the  use  of  the  cusp  is  concerned,  it  matters  not  whether  its 
weight  be  in  marble  or  bricks,  there  is  nothing  to  hinder 
us  from  cutting  out  some  of  the  marble,  as  at  u,  and  filling 
up  the  space  with  bricks.  ( Why  we  should  take  a  fancy  to 
do  this,  I  do  not  pretend  to  guess  at  present ;  all  I  have  to 
assert  is,  that,  if  the  fancy  should  strike  us,  there  would  be 
no  harm  in  it).  Substituting  this  side  piece  for  the  other  in 
the  window  n,  we  have  that  at  w,  which  may,  perhaps,  be  of 
some  service  to  us  afterwards  ;  here  we  have  nothing  more  to 
do  with  it  than  to  note  that,  thus  built,  and  properly  backed 
by  brickwork,  it  is  just  as  strong  and  safe  a  form  as  that  at 
n  ;  but  that  this,  as  well  as  every  variety  of  ogee  arch,  de- 
pends entirely  for  its  safety,  fitness,  and  beauty,  on  the 
masonry  which  we  have  just  analysed  ;  and  that,  built  on  a 
large  scale,  and  with  many  voussoirs,  all  such  arches  would  be 
unsafe  and  absurd  in  general  architecture.  Yet  they  may  be 
used  occasionally  for  the  sake  of  the  exquisite  beauty  of  which 
their  rich  and  fantastic  varieties  admit,  and  sometimes  for  the 
sake  of  another  merit,  exactly  the  opposite  of  the  construc- 
tional ones  we  are  at  present  examining,  that  they  seem  to 
stand  by  enchantment. 

§  xxn.  In  the  above  reasonings,  the  inclination  of  the  joints 
of  the  voussoirs  to  the  curves  of  the  arch  has  not  been  con- 
sidered. It  is  a  question  of  much  nicety,  and  which  I  have 
not  been  able  as  yet  fully  to  investigate  :  but  the  natural  idea 
of  the  arrangement  of  these  lines  (which  in  round  arches  are 
of  course  perpendicular  to  the  curve)  would  be  that  every 
voussoir  should  have  the  lengths  of  its  outer  and  inner  arched 
surface  in  the  same  proportion  to  each  other.  Either  this 
actual  law,  or  a  close  approximation  to  it,  is  assuredly  en- 
forced in  the  best  Gothic  buildings.  1 

§  xxiii.  I  may  sum  up  all  that  it  is  necessary  for  the  reader 


V 


Xrrlj  Mkgmtn/. 

BROLETTO  OF  GOMD. 


THE  ARCH  MASONRY. 


147 


to  keep  in  mind  of  the  general  laws  connected  with  this  sub- 
ject, by  giving  him  an  example  of  each  of  the  two  forms  of 
the  perfect  Gothic  arch,  uncusped  and  cusped,  treated  with 
the  most  simple  and  magnificent  masonry,  and  partly,  in  both 
cases,  Mont-Cenisian. 

The  first,  Plate  V. ,  is  a  window  from  the  Broletto  of  Como. 
It  shows,  in  its  filling,  first,  the  single-pieced  arch,  carried  on 
groups  of  four  shafts,  and  a  single  slab  of  marble  filling  the 
space  above,  and  pierced  with  a  quatrefoil  (Mont-Cenisian, 
this),  while  the  mouldings  above  are  each  constructed  with  a 
separate  system  of  voussoirs,  all  of  them  shaped,  I  think,  on 
the  principle  above  stated,  §  xxit,  in  alternate  serpentine  and 
marble ;  the  outer  arch  being  a  noble  example  of  the  pure 
uncusped  Gothic  construction,  b  of  Plate  III. 

§  xxiv.  Fig.  XXXIV.  is  the  masonry  of  the  side  arch  of, 
as  far  as  I  know  or  am  able  to  judge,  the  most  perfect  Gothic 
sepulchral  monument  in  the  world,  the  foursquare  canopy  of 
the  (nameless  ?  )  *  tomb  standing  over  the  small  cemetery  gate 
of  the  Church  of  St.  Anastasia  at  Verona.  I  shall  have  fre- 
quent occasion  to  recur  to  this  monument,  and,  I  believe, 
shall  be  able  sufficiently  to  justify  the  terms  in  which  I  speak 
of  it :  meanwhile,  I  desire  only  that  the  reader  should  observe 
the  severity  and  simplicity  of  the  arch  lines,  the  exquisitely 
delicate  suggestion  of  the  ogee  curve  in  the  apex,  and  chiefly 
the  use  of  the  cusp  in  giving  inward  weight  to  the  great  pieces 
of  stone  on  the  flanks  of  the  arch,  and  preventing  their  thrust 
outwards  from  being  severely  thrown  on  the  lowermost  stones. 
The  effect  of  this  arrangement  is,  that  the  whole  massy  canopy 
is  sustained  safely  by  four  slender  pillars  (as  will  be  seen  here- 
after in  the  careful  plate  I  hope  to  give  of  it),  these  pillars 
being  rather  steadied  than  materially  assisted  against  the 
thrust,  by  iron  bars,  about  an  inch  thick,  connecting  them  at 
the  heads  of  the  abaci ;  a  feature  of  peculiar  importance 
in  this  monument,  inasmuch  a&  we  know  it  to  be  part  of  the 

*  At  least  I  cannot  find  any  account  of  it  in  Maffei's  "Verona,"  not 
anywhere  else,  to  be  depended  upon.    It  is,  I  doubt  not,  a  work  of  the 
beginning  of  the  thirteenth  century.    Vide  Appendix  19,  "  Tombs  at  ^ 
St.  Anastasia," 


148  THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 

original  construction,  by  a  beautiful  little  Gothic  wreathed 
pattern,  like  one  of  the  hems  of  garments  of  Fra  Angelico, 
running  along  the  iron  bar  itself.    So  carefully,  and  so  far,  is 


Fig.  xxxiv. 

the  system  of  decoration  carried  out  in  this  pure  and  lovely 
monument,  my  most  beloved  throughout  all  the  length  and 
breadth  of  Italy  ;  —  chief,  as  I  think,  among  all  the  sepulchral 
marbles  of  a  land  of  mourning. 


THE  ARCH  LOAD. 


149 


CHAPTER  XII. 


THE   AKCH  LOAD. 


§  i.  In  the  preceding  enquiry  we  have  always  supposed 
either  that  the  load  upon  the  arch  was  perfectly  loose,  as  of 
gravel  or  sand,  or  that  it  was  Mont-Cenisian,  and  formed  one 
mass  with  the  arch  voussoirs,  of  more  or  less  compactness. 

In  practice,  the  state  is  usually  something  between  the  two. 
Over  bridges  and  tunnels  it  sometimes  approaches  to  the  con 
dition  of  mere  dust  or 
yielding  earth ;  but  in 
architecture  it  is  mostly 
firm  masonry,  not  alto- 
gether acting  with  the 
voussoirs,  yet  by  no  means 
bearing  on  them  with  per- 
fectly dead  weight,  but 
locking  itself  together 
above  them,  and  capable 
of  being  thrown  into  forms 
which  relieve  them,  in 
some  degree,  from  its 
pressure. 

§  ii.  It  is  evident  that  if 
we  are  to  place  a  contin- 
uous roof  above  the  line 
of  arches,  we  must  fill  up 
the  intervals  between 
them  on  the  tops  of  the 
columns.  We  have  at  pres- 
ent nothing  granted  us 
but  the  bare  masonry,  as  here  at  a,  Fig.  XXXV.,  and  we 
must  fill  up  the  intervals  between  the  semicircle  so  as  to 
obtain  a  level  line  of  support.  We  may  first  do  this  simply 
as  at  b,  with  plain  mass  of  wall ;  so  laying  the  roof  on  the  top, 
which  is  the  method  of  the  pure  Byzantine  and  Italian  Roman- 


Fig.  XXXV. 


ISO  THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


esque.  But  if  we  find 
too  much  stress  is  thus 
laid  on  the  arches,  we 
may  introduce  small 
second  shafts  on  the  top 
of  the  great  shaft,  a,  Fig, 
XXXVI.,  which  may  as- 
sist in  carrying  the  roof, 
conveying  great  part  of 
its  weight  at  once  to  the 
heads  of  the  main  shafts, 
and  relieving  from  its 
pressure  the  centres  of 
the  arches. 

§  in.  The  new  shaft 
thus  introduced  may 
either  remain  lifted  on 
the  head  of  the  great 
shaft,  or  may  be  carried 
to  the  ground  in  front  of 
it,  or  through  it,  b,  Fig. 
XXXVI  ;  in  which  latter 
case  the  main  shaft  di- 
vides into  two  or  more 
minor  shafts,  and  forms 
a  group  with  the  shaft 
brought  down  from 
above. 

§  iv.  When  this  shaft, 
brought  from  roof  to 
ground,  is  subordinate  to 
the  main  pier,  and  either 
is  carried  down  the  face 
of  it,  or  forms  no  large 
part  of  the  group,  the  principle  is  Eomanesque  or  Gothic,  b, 
Fig.  XXXVI.  When  it  becomes  a  bold  central  shaft,  and 
the  main  pier  splits  into  two  minor  shafts  on  its  sides,  the 
principle  is  Classical  or  Palladian,  e,  Fig.  XXXVI.  Which 


Fig.  XXXVI. 


THE  ARCH  LOAD. 


151 


latter  arrangement  becomes  absurd  or  unsatisfactory  in  pro- 
portion to  the  sufficiency  of  the  main  shaft  to  carry  the  rool 
without  the  help  of  the  minor  shafts  or  arch,  which  in  manj 
instances  of  Palladian  work  look  as  if  they  might  be  removed 
without  danger  to  the  building. 

§  v.  The  form  a  is  a  more  pure  Northern  Gothic  type  than 
even  b,  which  is  the  connecting  link  between  it  and  the  clas- 
sical type.  It  is  found  chiefly  in  English  and  other  northern 
Gothic,  and  in  early  Lombardic,  and  is,  I  doubt  not,  derived 
as  above  explained,  Chap.  I.  §  xxvu.  b  is  a  general  French 
Gothic  and  French  Eomanesque  form,  as  in  great  purity  at 
Valence. 

The  small  shafts  of  the  form  a  and  b,  as  being  northern, 
are  generally  connected  with  steep  vaulted  roofs,  and  receive 
for  that  reason  the  name  of  vaulting  shafts. 

§  vi.  Of  these  forms  b,  Fig.  XXXV.,  is  the  purest  and 
most  sublime,  expressing  the  power  of  the  arch  most  distinctly. 
All  the  others  have  some  appearance  of  dovetailing  and  mor- 
ticing of  timber  rather  than  stonework  ;  nor  have  I  ever  yet 
seen  a  single  instance,  quite  satisfactory,  of  the  management 
of  the  capital  of  the  main  shaft,  when  it  had  either  to  sustain 
the  base  of  the  vaulting  shaft,  as  in  a,  or  to  suffer  it  to  pass 
through  it,  as  in  b,  Fig.  XXXVI.  Nor  is  the  bracket  which 
frequently  carries  the  vaulting  shaft  in  English  work  a  fitting 
support  for  a  portion  of  the  fabric  which  is  at  all  events  pre- 
sumed to  carry  a  considerable  part  of  the  weight  of  the  roof. 

§  vii.  The  triangular  spaces  on  the  flanks  of  the  arch  are 
called  Spandrils,  and  if  the  masonry  of  these  should  be  found, 
in  any  of  its  forms,  too  heavy  for  the  arch,  their  weight  may 
be  diminished,  while  their  strength  remains  the  same,  by  pierc- 
ing them  with  circular  holes  or  lights.  This  is  rarely  neces- 
sary in  ordinary  architecture,  though  sometimes  of  great  use 
in  bridges  and  iron  roofs  (a  succession  of  such  circles  may  be 
seen,  for  instance,  in  the  spandrils  at  the  Euston  Square 
station)  ;  but,  from  its  constructional  value,  it  becomes  the 
best  form  in  which  to  arrange  spandril  decorations,  as  we 
shali  see  hereafter. 

§  viii.  The  height  of  the  load  above  the  arch  is  determined 


152 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


by  the  needs  of  the  building-  and  possible  length  of  the  shaft; 
but  with  this  we  have  at  present  nothing  to  do,  for  we  have 
performed  the  task  which  was  set  us.  We  have  ascertained, 
as  it  was  required  that  we  should  in  §  vi.  of  Chap.  III.  (A), 
the  construction  of  walls  ;  (B),  that  of  piers  ;  (C),  that  of  piers 
with  lintels  or  arches  prepared  for  roofing.  We  have  next, 
therefore,  to  examine  (D)  the  structure  of  the  roof. 


CHAPTER  XTII. 

THE  ROOF. 

§  i.  Hitherto  our  enquiry  has  been  unembarrassed  by  any 
considerations  relating  exclusively  either  to  the  exterior  or 
interior  of  buildings.  But  it  can  remain  so  no  longer.  As 
far  as  the  architect  is  concerned,  one  side  of  a  wall  is  gener- 
ally the  same  as  another  ;  but  in  the  roof  there  are  usually 
two  distinct  divisions  of  the  structure  ;  one,  a  shell,  vault,  or 
flat  ceiling,  internally  visible,  the  other,  an  upper  structure, 
built  of  timber,  to  protect  the  lower  ;  or  of  some  different 
form,  to  support  it.  Sometimes,  indeed,  the  internally  visi- 
ble structure  is  the  real  roof,  and  sometimes  there  are  more 
than  two  divisions,  as  in  St.  Pauls,  where  we  have  a  central 
shell  with  a  mask  below  and  above.  Still  it  will  be  conven- 
ient to  remember  the  distinction  between  the  part  of  the  roof 
which  is  usually  visible  from  within,  and  whose  only  business 
is  to  stand  strongly,  and  not  fall  in,  which  I  shall  call  the 
Roof  Proper  ;  and,  secondly,  the  upper  roof,  which,  being 
often  partly  supported  by  the  lower,  is  not  so  much  con- 
cerned with  its  own  stability  as  with  the  weather,  and  is  ap- 
pointed to  throw  off  snow,  and  get  rid  of  rain,  as  fast  as  pos- 
sible, which  I  shall  call  the  Roof  Mask. 

§  ii.  It  is,  however,  needless  for  me  to  engage  the  reader 
in  the  discussion  of  the  various  methods  of  construction  of 
Roofs  Proper,  for  this  simple  reason,  that  no  person  without 
long  experience  can  tell  whether  a  roof  be  wisely  constructed 
or  not ;  nor  tell  at  all,  even  with  help  of  any  amount  of  expe- 


THE  BO  OF. 


153 


rience,  without  examination  of  the  several  parts  and  bearings 
of  it,  very  different  from  any  observation  possible  to  the  gen- 
eral critic  :  and  more  than  this,  the  enquiry  would  be  useless 
to  us  in  our  Venetian  studies,  where  the  roofs  are  either  not 
contemporary  with  the  buildings,  or  flat,  or  else  vaults  of  the 
simplest  possible  constructions,  which  have  been  admirably 
explained  by  Willis  in  his  "  Architecture  of  the  Middle  Ages," 
Chap.  VIL,  to  which  I  may  refer  the  reader  for  all  that  it  would 
1)8  well  for  him  to  know  respecting  the  connexion  of  the  dif- 
ferent parts  of  the  vault  with  the  shafts.  He  would  also  do 
well  to  read  the  passages  on  Tudor  vaulting,  pp.  185-193,  in 
Mr.  Garbett's  rudimentary  Treatise  on  Design,  before  alluded 
to.*  I  shall  content  myself  therefore  with  noting  one  or  two 
points  on  which  neither  writer  has  had  occasion  to  touch,  re- 
specting the  Roof  Mask. 

§  in.  It  was  said  in  §  v.  of  Chapter  III.  that  we  should 
not  have  occasion,  in  speaking  of  roof  construction,  to  add 
materially  to  the  forms  then  suggested.  The  forms  which 
we  have  to  add  are  only  those  resulting  from  the  other  curves 
of  the  arch  developed  in  the  last  chapter  ;  that  is  to  say,  the 
various  eastern  domes  and  cupolas  arising  out  of  the  revolu- 
tion of  the  horseshoe  and  ogee  curves,  together  with  the  well- 
known  Chinese  concave  roof.  All  these  forms  are  of  course 
purely  decorative,  the  bulging  outline,  or  concave  surface, 
being  of  no  more  use,  or  rather  of  less,  in  throwing  off  snow 
or  rain,  than  the  ordinary  spire  and  gable  ;  and  it  is  rather 
curious,  therefore,  that  all  of  them,  on  a  small  scale,  should 
have  obtained  so  extensive  use  in  Germany  and  Switzerland, 
their  native  climate  being  that  of  the  east,  where  their  pur- 
pose seems  rather  to  concentrate  light  upon  their  orbed  sur- 
faces. I  much  doubt  their  applicability,  on  a  large  scale,  to 
architecture  ort  any  admirable  dignity  ;  their  chief  charm  is,  to 
the  European  eye,  that  of  strangeness ;  and  it  seems  to  me 
possible  that  in  the  east  the  bulging  form  may  be  also  de- 
lightful, from  the  idea  of  its  enclosing  a  volume  of  cool  air. 
I  enjoy  them  in  St.  Mark's,  chiefly  because  they  increase  the 
fantastic  and  unreal  character  of  St.  Mark's  Place  ;  and  he- 
*  Appendix  17. 


154 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


cause  they  appear  to  sympathise  with  an  expression,  common, 
I  think,  to  all  the  buildings  of  that  group,  of  a  natural  buoy- 
ancy, as  if  they  floated  m  the  air  or  on  the  surface  of  the  sea. 
But,  assuredly,  they  are  not  features  to  be  recommended  for 
imitation.* 

§  iv.  One  form,  closely  connected  with  the  Chinese  con- 
cave, is,  however,  often  constructively  right, — the  gable  with 
an  inward  angle,  occurring  with  exquisitely  picturesque  ef- 
fect throughout  the  domestic  architecture  of  the  north,  es- 
pecially Germany  and  Switzerland;  the  lower  slope  being 

either  an  attached  external  pent- 
house roof,  for  protection  of  the 
wall,  as  in  Fig.  XXXVII,  or  else  a 
kind  of  buttress  set  on  the  angle  of 
the  tower  ;  and  in  either  case  the 
roof  itself  being  a  simple  gable, 
continuous  beneath  it. 

§  v.  The  true  gable,  as  it  is  the 
simplest  and  most  natural,  so  I  es- 
teem it  the  grandest  of  roofs ; 
whether  rising  in  ridgy  darkness, 
like  a  grey  slope  of  slaty  mountains, 
over  the  precipitous  walls  of  the 
northern  cathedrals,  or  stretched  in 
burning  breadth  above  the  white 
and  square-set  groups  of  the  south- 
ern architecture.  But  this  differ- 
ence between  its  slope  in  the  northern  and  southern  structure 
is  a  matter  of  far  greater  importance  than  is  commonly  sup- 
posed, and  it  is  this  to  which  I  would  especially  direct  the 
reader's  attention. 

§  vi.  One  main  cause  of  it,  the  necessity  of  throwing  off 

*  I  do  not  speak  of  the  true  dome,  because  I  have  not  studied  its  con- 
struction enough  to  know  at  what  largeness  of  scale  it  begins  to  be  rather 
a  tour  de  force  than  a  convenient  or  natural  form  of  roof,  and  because  the 
ordinary  spectator's  choice  among  its  various  outlines  must  always  be  de- 
pendent on  aesthetic  considerations  only,  and  can  in  no  wise  be  grounded 
on  any  conception  of  its  infinitely  complicated  structural  principles. 


THE  ROOF. 


155 


snow  in  the  north,  has  been  a  thousand  times  alluded  to: 
another  I  do  not  remember  having  seen  noticed,  namely,  that 
rooms  in  a  roof  are  comfortably  habitable  in  the  north,  which 
are  painful  sotto  piombi  in  Italy  ;  and  that  there  is  in  wet 
climates  a  natural  tendency  in  all  men  to  live  as  high  as  possi- 
ble, out  of  the  damp  and  mist.  These  two  causes,  together 
with  accessible  quantities  of  good  timber,  have  induced  in 
the  north  a  general  steep  pitch  of  gable,  which,  when  rounded 
or  squared  above  a  tower,  becomes  a  spire  or  turret ;  and  this 
feature,  worked  out  with  elaborate  decoration,  is  the  key-note 
of  the  whole  system  of  aspiration,  so  called,  which  the  Ger- 
man critics  have  so  ingeniously  and  falsely  ascribed  to  a  de- 
votional sentiment  pervading  the  Northern  Gothic  :  I  entirely 
and  boldly  deny  the  whole  theory ;  our  cathedrals  were  for 
the  most  part  built  by  worldly  people,  who  loved  the  world, 
and  would  have  gladly  staid  in  it  for  ever  ;  whose  best  hope 
wras  the  escaping  hell,  which  they  thought  to  do  by  building 
cathedrals,  but  who  had  very  vague  conceptions  of  Heaven  in 
general,  and  very  feeble  desires  respecting  their  entrance 
therein  ;  and  the  form  of  the  spired  cathedral  has  no  more 
intentional  reference  to  Heaven,  as  distinguished  from  the 
flattened  slope  of  the  Greek  pediment,  than  the  steep  gable 
of  a  Norman  house  has,  as  distinguished  from  the  flat  roof  of 
a  Syrian  one.  We  may  now,  with  ingenious  pleasure,  trace 
such  symbolic  characters  in  the  form  ;  we  may  now  use  it 
with  such  definite  meaning  ;  but  we  only  prevent  ourselves 
from  all  right  understanding  of  history,  by  attributing  much 
influence  to  these  poetical  symbolisms  in  the  formation  of  a 
national  style.  The  human  race  are,  for  the  most  part,  not 
to  be  moved  by  such  silken  cords  ;  and  the  chances  of  damp 
in  the  cellar,  or  of  loose  tiles  in  the  roof,  have,  unhappily, 
much  more  to  do  with  the  fashions  of  a  man's  house  building 
than  his  ideas  of  celestial  happiness  or  angelic  virtue.  Associ- 
ations of  affection  have  far  higher  power,  and  forms  which 
can  be  no  otherwise  accounted  for  may  often  be  explained  by 
reference  to  the  natural  features  of  the  country,  or  to  any- 
thing which  habit  must  have  rendered  familiar,  and  therefore 
delightful ;  but  the  direct  symbolisation  of  a  sentiment  is  a 


156 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


weak  motive  with  all  men,  and  far  more  so  in  the  practical 
minds  of  the  north  than  among  the  early  Christians,  who 
were  assuredly  quite  as  heavenly -minded,  when  they  built 
basilicas,  or  cut  conchas  out  of  the  catacombs,  as  were  ever 
the  Norman  barons  or  monks. 

§  vn.  There  is,  however,  in  the  north  an  animal  activity 
which  materially  aided  the  system  of  building  begun  in  mere 
utility, — an  animal  life,  naturally  expressed  in  erect  work,  as 
the  languor  of  the  south  in  reclining  or  level  work.  Imagine 
the  difference  between  the  action  of  a  man  urging  himself  to 
his  work  in  a  snow  storm,  and  the  inaction  of  one  laid  at  his 
length  on  a  sunny  bank  among  cicadas  and  fallen  olives,  and 
you  will  have  the  key  to  a  whole  group  of  sympathies  which 
were  forcefully  expressed  in  the  architecture  of  both ;  remem- 
bering always  that  sleep  would  be  to  the  one  luxury,  to  the 
other  death. 

§  viii.  And  to  the  force  of  this  vital  instinct  we  have  farther 
to  add  the  influence  of  natural  scenery  ;  and  chiefly  of  the 
groups  and  wildernesses  of  the  tree  which  is  to  the  German 
mind  what  the  olive  or  palm  is  to  the  southern,  the  spruce  fir. 
The  eye  which  has  once  been  habituated  to  the  continual  ser- 
ration of  the  pine  forest,  and  to  the  multiplication  of  its  infi- 
nite pinnacles,  is  not  easily  offended  by  the  repetition  of  simi- 
lar forms,  nor  easily  satisfied  by  the  simplicity  of  flat  or 
massive  outlines.  Add  to  the  influence  of  the  pine,  that  of 
the  poplar,  more  especially  in  the  valleys  of  France ;  but  think 
of  the  spruce  chiefly,  and  meditate  on  the  difference  of  feeling 
with  which  the  Northman  would  be  inspired  by  the  frost-work 
wreathed  upon  its  glittering  point,  and  the  Italian  by  the  dark 
green  depth  of  sunshine  on  the  broad  table  of  the  stone-pine  * 
(and  consider  by  the  way  whether  the  spruce  fir  be  a  more 

*  I  shall  not  be  thought  to  have  overrated  the  effect  of  forest  scenery 
on  the  northern  mind  ;  but  I  was  glad  to  hear  a  Spanish  gentleman,  the 
other  day,  describing,  together  with  his  own,  the  regret  which  the  peas- 
ants in  his  neighborhood  had  testified  for  the  loss  of  a  noble  stone-pine, 
one  of  the  grandest  in  Spain,  which  its  proprietor  had  suffered  to  be  cut 
down  for  small  gain.  He  said  that  the  mere  spot  where  it  had  grown 
was  still  popularly  known  as  "El  Pino." 


THE  ROOF. 


151 


heavenly-minded  tree  than  those  dark  canopies  of  the  MecU 
terranean  isles). 

§  ix.  Circumstance  and  sentiment,  therefore,  aiding  each 
other,  the  steep  roof  becomes  generally  adopted,  and  delighted 
in,  throughout  the  north ;  and  then,  with  the  gradual  exag- 
geration with  which  every  pleasant  idea  is  pursued  by  the 
human  mind,  it  is  raised  into  all  manner  of  peaks,  and  points, 
and  ridges  ;  and  pinnacle  after  pinnacle  is  added  on  its  flanks, 
and  the  walls  increased  in  height,  in  proportion,  until  we  get 
indeed  a  very  sublime  mass,  but  one  which  has  no  more  prin- 
ciple of  religious  aspiration  in  it  than  a  child's  tower  of  cards. 
What  is  more,  the  desire  to  build  high  is  complicated  with  the 
peculiar  love  of  the  grotesque  *  which  is  characteristic  of  the 
north,  together  with  especial  delight  in  multiplication  of  small 
forms  as  well  as  in  exaggerated  points  of  shade  and  energy, 
and  a  certain  degree  of  consequent  insensibility  to  perfect- 
grace  and  quiet  truthfulness ;  so  that  a  northern  architect 
could  not  feel  the  beauty  of  the  Elgin  marbles,  and  there  will 
always  be  (in  those  who  have  devoted  themselves  to  this  par- 
ticular school)  a  certain  incapacity  to  taste  the  finer  characters 
of  Greek  art,  or  to  understand  Titian,  Tintoret,  or  Raphael : 
whereas  among  the  Italian  Gothic  workmen,  this  capacity  was 
never  lost,  and  Nino  Pisano  and  Orcagna  could  have  under- 
stood the  Theseus  in  an  instant,  and  would  have  received  from  it 
new  life.  There  can  be  no  question  that  theirs  was  the  great- 
est school,  and  carried  out  by  the  greatest  men  ;  and  that 
while  those  who  began  with  this  school  could  perfectly  well 
feel  Rouen  Cathedral,  those  who  study  the  Northern  Gothic 
remain  in  a  narrowed  field — one  of  small  pinnacles,  and  dots, 
and  crockets,  and  twitched  faces — and  cannot  comprehend  the 
meaning  of  a  broad  surface  or  a  grand  line.  Nevertheless  the 
northern  school  is  an  admirable  and  delightful  thing,  but  a 
lower  thing  than  the  southern.  The  Gothic  of  the  Ducal 
Palace  of  Venice  is  in  harmony  with  all  that  is  grand  in  all 
the  world  :  that  of  the  north  is  in  harmony  with  the  grotesque 
northern  spirit  only. 

§  x.  We  are,  however,  beginning  to  lose  sight  of  our  roof 
*  Appendix  8. 


158 


THE  STONFJS  OF  VENICE. 


structure  in  its  spirit,  and  must  return  to  our  text.  As  the 
height  of  the  walls  increased,  in  sympathy  with  the  rise  of  the 
roof,  while  their  thickness  remained  the  same,  it  became  more 
and  more  necessary  to  support  them  by  buttresses  ;  but — and 
this  is  another  point  that  the  reader  must  specially  note — it  is 
not  the  steep  roof  mask  which  requires  the  buttress,  but  the 
vaulting  beneath  it ;  the  roof  mask  being  a  mere  wooden 
frame  tied  together  by  cross  timbers,  and  in  small  buildings 
often  put  together  on  the  ground,  raised  afterwards,  and  set 
on  the  walls  like  a  hat,  bearing  vertically  upon  them ;  and 
farther,  I  believe  in  most  cases  the  northern  vaulting  requires 
its  great  array  of  external  buttress,  not  so  much  from  any 
peculiar  boldness  in  its  own  forms,  as  from  the  greater  com- 
parative thinness  and  height  of  the  walls,  and  more  deter- 
mined throwing  of  the  whole  weight  of  the  roof  on  particular 
points.  Now  the  connexion  of  the  interior  frame-work  (or 
true  roof)  with  the  buttress,  at  such  points,  is  not  visible  to 
the  spectators  from  without ;  but  the  relation  of  the  roof  mask 
to  the  top  of  the  wall  which  it  protects,  or  from  which  it 
springs,  is  perfectly  visible  ;  and  it  is  a  point  of  so  great  im- 
portance in  the  effect  of  the  building,  that  it  will  be  well  to 
make  it  a  subject  of  distinct  consideration  in  the  following 
Chapter. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE    ROOF  CORNICE. 

§  i.  It  will  be  remembered  that  in  the  Sixth  Chapter  we 
paused  (§  x.)  at  the  point  where  the  addition  of  brackets  to 
the  ordinary  wall  cornice  would  have  converted  it  into  a 
structure  proper  for  sustaining  a  roof.  Now  the  wall  cornice 
was  treated  throughout  our  enquiry  (compare  Chapter  VII. 
§  v.)  as  the  capital  of  the  wall,  and  as  forming,  by  its  concen- 
tration, the  capital  of  the  shaft.  But  we  must  not  reason 
back  from  the  capital  to  the  cornice,  and  suppose  that  an  ex- 
tension of  the  principles  of  the  capital  to  the  whole  length  of 
the  wall,  will  serve  for  the  roof  cornice ;  for  all  our  conclu- 


THE  ROOF  CORNICE. 


159 


sions  respecting  the  capital  were  based  on  the  supposition  of 
its  being  adapted  to  carry  considerable  weight  condensed  on 
its  abacus :  but  the  roof  cornice  is,  in  most  cases,  required 
rather  to  project  boldly  than  to  carry  weight ;  and  arrange- 
ments are  therefore  to  be  adopted  for  it  which  will  secure  the 
projection  of  large  surfaces  without  being  calculated  to  resist 
extraordinary  pressure.  This  object  is  obtained  by  the  use 
of  brackets  at  intervals,  which  are  the  peculiar  distinction  of 
the  roof  cornice. 

g  ii.  Roof  cornices  are  generally  to  be  divided  into  two 
great  families  :  the  first  and  simplest,  those  which  are  com- 
posed merely  by  the  projection  of  the  edge  of  the  roof  mask 
over  the  wall,  sustained  by  such  brackets  or  spurs  as  may  be 
necessary ;  the  second,  those  which  provide  a  walk  round  the 
edge  of  the  roof,  and  which  require,  therefore,  some  stronger 
support,  as  well  as  a  considerable  mass  of  building  above  or 
beside  the  roof  mask,  and  a  parapet.  These  two  families  we 
shall  consider  in  succession. 

§  in.  1.  The  Eaved  Cornice.  We  may  give  it  this  name, 
as  represented  in  the  simplest  form  by  cottage  eaves.  It  is 
used,  however,  in  bold  projection,  both  in  north,  and  south, 
and  east ;  its  use  being,  in  the  north,  to  throw  the  rain  well 
away  from  the  wall  of  the  building  ;  in  the  south  to  give  it 
shade ;  and  it  is  ordinarily  constructed  of  the  ends  of  the 
timbers  of  the  roof  mask  (with  their  tiles  or  shingles  con- 
tinued to  the  edge  of  the  cornice),  and  sustained  by  spurs  of 
timber.  This  is  its  most  picturesque  and  natural  form  ;  not 
inconsistent  with  great  splendor  of  architecture  in  the  mediae- 
val Italian  domestic  buildings,  superb  in  its  mass  of  cast 
shadow,  and  giving  rich  effect  to  the  streets  of  Swiss  towns, 
even  when  they  have  no  other  claim  to  interest.  A  farther 
value  is  given  to  it  by  its  waterspouts,  for  in  order  to  avoid 
loading  it  with  weight  of  water  in  the  gutter  at  the  edge, 
where  it  would  be  a  strain  on  the  fastenings  of  the  pipe,  it 
has  spouts  of  discharge  at  intervals  of  three  or  four  feet, — 
rows  of  magnificent  leaden  or  iron  dragons'  heads,  full  of  de- 
lightful character,  except  to  any  person  passing  along  the 
middle  of  the  street  in  a  heavy  shower.    I  have  had  my  share 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


of  their  kindness  in  my  time,  but  owe  them  no  grudge ;  on 
the  contrary,  much  gratitude  for  the  delight  of  their  fantastic 
outline  on  the  calm  blue  sky,  when  they  had  no  work  to  do 
but  to  open  their  iron  mouths  and  pant  in  the  sunshine. 

§  iv.  When,  however,  light  is  more  valuable  than  shadow, 
or  when  the  architecture  of  the  wail  is  too  fair  to  be  con- 
cealed, it  becomes  necessary  to  draw  the  cornice  into  nar- 
rower limits ;  a  change  of  considerable  importance,  in  that  it 
permits  the  gutter,  instead  of  being  of  lead  and  hung  to  the 
edge  of  the  cornice,  to  be  of  stone,  and  supported  by  brackets 
in  the  wall,  these  brackets  becoming  proper  recipients  of  after 
decoration  (and  sometimes  associated  with  the  stone  channels 
of  discharge,  called  gargoyles,  which  belong,  however,  more 
properly  to  the  other  family  of  cornices).  The  most  perfect 
and  beautiful  example  of  this  kind  of  cornice  is  the  Venetian, 
in  which  the  rain  from  the  tiles  is  received  in  a  stone  gutter 
supported  by  small  brackets,  delicately  moulded,  and  having 
its  outer  lower  edge  decorated  with  the  English  dogtooth 
moulding,  whose  sharp  zigzag  mingles  richly  with  the  curved 
edges  of  the  tiling.  I  know  no  cornice  more  beautiful  in  its 
extreme  simplicity  and  serviceableness. 

§  v.  The  cornice  of  the  Greek  Doric  is  a  condition  of  the 
same  kind,  in  which,  however,  there  are  no  brackets,  but  use- 
less appendages  hung  to  the  bottom  of  the  gutter  (giving, 
however,  some  impression  of  support  as  seen  from  a  distance), 
and  decorated  with  stone  symbolisms  of  raindrops.  The 
brackets  are  not  allowed,  because  they  would  interfere  with 
the  sculpture,  which  in  this  architecture  is  put  beneath  the 
cornice  ;  and  the  overhanging  form  of  the  gutter  is  nothing 
more  than  a  vast  dripstone  moulding,  to  keep  the  rain  from 
such  sculpture  :  its  decoration  of  guttse,  seen  in  silver  points 
against  the  shadow,  is  pretty  in  feeling,  with  a  kind  of  con- 
tinual refreshment  and  remembrance  of  rain  in  it ;  but  the 
whole  arrangement  is  awkward  and  meagre,  and  is  only  en- 
durable when  the  eye  is  quickly  drawn  away  from  it  to  sculp- 
ture. 

§  vi.  In  later  cornices,  invented  for  the  Greek  orders,  and 
farther  developed  by  the  Romans,  the  bracket  appears  in  true 


THE  ROOF  CORNICE. 


161 


importance,  though  of  barbarous  and  effeminate  outline  :  and 
gorgeous  decorations  are  applied  to  it,  and  to  the  various 
horizontal  mouldings  which  it  carries,  some  of  them  of  great 
beauty,  and  of  the  highest  value  to  the  mediaeval  architects 
who  imitated  them.  But  a  singularly  gross  mistake  was  made 
in  the  distribution  of  decoration  on  these  rich  cornices  (I  do 
not  know  when  first,  nor  does  it  matter  to  me  or  to  the 
reader),  namely,  the  charging  with  ornament  the  under  sur- 
face of  the  cornice  between  the  brackets,  that  is  to  say,  the 
exact  piece  of  the  whole  edifice,  from  top  to  bottom,  where 
ornament  is  least  visible.  I  need  hardly  say  much  respecting 
the  wisdom  of  this  procedure,  excusable  only  if  the  whole 
building  were  covered  with  ornament ;  but  it  is  curious  to 
see  the  way  in  which  modern  architects  have  copied  it,  even 
when  they  had  little  enough  ornament  to  spare.  For  in- 
stance, I  suppose  few  persons  look  at  the  Athenaeum  Club- 
house without  feeling  vexed  at  the  meagreness  and  meanness 
of  the  windows  of  the  ground  floor :  if,  however,  they  look 
up  under  the  cornice,  and  have  good  eyes,  they  will  perceive 
that  the  architect  has  reserved  his  decorations  to  put  between 
the  brackets  ;  and  by  going  up  to  the  first  floor,  and  out  on 
the  gallery,  they  may  succeed  in  obtaining  some  glimpses  of 
the  designs  of  the  said  decorations. 

§  vn.  Such  as  they  are,  or  were,  these  cornices  were  soon 
considered  essential  parts  of  the  <l  order "  to  which  they  be- 
longed ;  and  the  same  wisdom  which  endeavored  to  fix  the 
proportions  of  the  orders,  appointed  also  that  no  order  should 
go  without  its  cornice.  The  reader  has  probably  heard  of  the 
architectural  division  of  superstructure  into  architrave,  frieze, 
and  cornice  ;  parts  which  have  been  appointed  by  great  archi- 
tects to  all  their  work,  in  the  same  spirit  in  which  great  rheto- 
ricians have  ordained  that  every  speech  shall  have  an  exor- 
dium, and  narration,  and  peroration.  The  reader  will  do 
well  to  consider  that  it  may  be  sometimes  just  as  possible  to 
carry  a  roof,  and  get  rid  of  rain,  without  such  an  arrange- 
ment, as  it  is  to  tell  a  plain  fact  without  an  exordium  or  per- 
oration ;  but  he  must  very  absolutely  consider  that  the 
architectural  peroration  or  cornice  is  strictly  and  sternly 
Vol.  I. —11 


162 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


limited  to  the  end  of  the  walls  speech, — that  is,  to  the  edge 
of  the  roof ;  and  that  it  has  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  shafts 
nor  the  orders  of  them.  And  he  will  then  be  able  fully  to 
enjoy  the  farther  ordinance  of  the  late  Eoman  and  Renais- 
sance architects,  who,  attaching  it  to  the  shaft  as  if  it  were 
part  of  its  shadow,  and  having  to  employ  their  shafts  often  in 
places  where  they  came  not  near  the  roof,  forthwith  cut  the  roof- 
cornice  to  pieces  and  attached  a  bit  of  it  to  every  column ; 
thenceforward  to  be  carried  by  the  unhappy  shaft  wherever  it 
went,  in  addition  to  any  other  work  on  which  it  might  happen 
to  be  employed.  I  do  not  recollect  among  any  living  beings, 
except  Renaissance  architects,  any  instance  of  a  parallel  or 
comparable  stupidity  :  but  one  can  imagine  a  savage  getting 
hold  of  a  piece  of  one  of  our  iron  wire  ropes,  with  its  rings 
upon  it  at  intervals  to  bind  it  together,  and  pulling  the  wires 
asunder  to  apply  them  to  separate  purposes  ;  but  imagining 
there  was  magic  in  the  ring  that  bound  them,  and  so  cutting 
that  to  pieces  also,  and  fastening  a  little  bit  of  it  to  every 
wire. 

§  viii.  Thus  much  may  serve  us  to  know  respecting  the  first 
family  of  wall  cornices.  The  second  is  immeasurably  more 
important,  and  includes  the  cornices  of  all  the  best  buildings 
in  the  world.  It  has  derived  its  best  form  from  mediaeval 
military  architecture,  which  imperatively  required  two  things  ; 
first,  a  parapet  which  should  permit  sight  and  offence,  and  af- 
ford defence  at  the  same  time  ;  and  secondly,  a  projection  bold 
enough  to  enable  the  defenders  to  rake  the  bottom  of  the  wall 
with  falling  bodies  ;  projection  which,  if  the  wall  happened  to 
slope  inwards,  required  not  to  be  small.  The  thoroughly 
magnificent  forms  of  cornice  thus  developed  by  necessity  in 
military  buildings,  were  adopted,  with  more  or  less  of  bold- 
ness or  distinctness,  in  domestic  architecture,  according  to 
the  temper  of  the  times  and  the  circumstances  of  the  indi- 
vidual— decisively  in  the  baron's  house,  imperfectly  in  the 
burgher's  :  gradually  they  found  their  way  into  ecclesiastical 
architecture,  under  wise  modifications  in  the  early  cathedrals, 
with  infinite  absurdity  in  the  imitations  of  them  ;  diminish- 
ing in  size  as  their  original  purpose  sank  into  a  decorative 


THE  ROOF  CORNICE. 


163 


one,  until  we  Unci  battlements,  two-and-a-quarter  inches 
square,  decorating  the  gates  of  the  Philanthropic  Society. 

§  ix.  There  are,  therefore,  two  distinct  features  in  all  cor- 
nices of  this  kind  :  first,  the  bracket,  now  become  of  enormous 
importance  and  of  most  serious  practical  service  ;  the  second, 
the  parapet  :  and  these  two  features  we  shall  consider  in  suc- 
cession, and  in  so  doing,  shall  learn  all  thct  is  needful  for  lis 
to  know,  not  only  respecting  cornices,  but  respecting  brackets 
in  general,  and  balconies. 

§  x.  1.  The  Bracket.  In  the  simplest  form  of  military  cor- 
nice, the  brackets  are  composed  of  two  or  more  long  stones, 
supporting  each  other  in  gradually  in- 
creasing projection,  with  roughly  rounded 
ends,  Fig.  XXXVIII.,  and  the  parapet  is 
simply  a  low  wall  carried  on  the  ends  of 
these,  leaving,  of  course,  behind,  or  within 
it,  a  hole  between  each  bracket  for  the 
convenient  dejection  of  hot  sand  and  lead. 
This  form  is  best  seen,  I  think,  in  the  old 
Scotch  castles  ;  it  is  very  grand,  but  has 
a  giddy  look,  and  one  is  afraid  of  the 
whole  thing  toppling  off  the  wall.  The 
next  step  was  to  deepen  the  brackets,  so 
as  to  get  them  propped  against  a  great  depth  of  the  main 
rampart,  and  to  have  the  inner  ends  of  the  stones  held  by 
a  greater  weight  of  that  main  wall  above  ;  while  small  arches 
were  thrown  from  bracket  to  bracket  to  carry  the  par- 
apet wall  more  securely.  This  is  the  most  perfect  form  of 
cornice,  completely  satisfying  the  eye  of  its  security,  giving 
full  protection  to  the  wall,  and  applicable  to  all  architecture, 
the  interstices  between  the  brackets  being  filled  up,  when  one 
does  not  want  to  throw  boiling  lead  on  any  body  below,  and 
the  projection  being  always  delightful,  as  giving  greater  com- 
mand and  view  of  the  building,  from  its  angles,  to  those  walk- 
ing on  the  rampart.  And  as,  in  military  buildings,  there  were 
usually  towers  at  the  angles  (round  which  the  battlements 
swept)  in  order  to  flank  the  walls,  so  often  in  the  translation 
into  civil  or  ecclesiastical  architecture,  a  small  turret  remained 


164 


THE  OF  VENICE. 


at  the  angle,  or  a  more  bold  projection  of  balcony,  to  give 
larger  prospect  to  those  upon  the  rampart.  This  cornice, 
perfect  in  all  its  parts,  as  arranged  for  ecclesiastical  architec- 
ture, and  exquisitely  decorated,  is  the  one  employed  in  the 
duomo  of  Florence  and  campanile  of  Giotto,  of  which  I  have 
already  spoken  as,  I  suppose,  the  most  perfect  architecture  in 
the  world. 

§  xi.  In  less  important  positions  and  on  smaller  edifices, 
this  cornice  diminishes  in  size,  while  it  retains  its  arrange- 
ment, and  at  last  we  find  nothing  but  the  spirit  and  form  of  it 
left ;  the  real  practical  purpose  having  ceased,  and  arch, 
brackets  and  all,  being  cut  out  of  a  single  stone.  Thus  we 
find  it  used  in  early  buildings  throughout  the 
whole  of  the  north  and  south  of  Europe,  in 
forms  sufficiently  represented  by  the  two  ex- 
amples in  Plate  IV. :  1,  from  St.  Antonio,  Padua  ; 
2,  from  Sens,  in  France. 

§  xn.  I  wish,  however,  at  present  to  fix  the 
reader's  attention  on  the  form  of  the  bracket  it- 
self ;  a  most  important  feature  in  modern  as  well 
as  ancient  architecture.  The  first  idea  of  a 
bracket  is  that  of  a  long  stone  or  piece  of  timber 
projecting  from  the  wall,  as  a,  Fig.  XXXIX.,  of 
which  the  strength  depends  on  the  toughness 
of  the  stone  or  wood,  and  the  stability  on  the 
weight  of  the  wrall  above  it  (unless  it  be  the  end 
of  a  main  beam).  But  let  it  be  supposed  that 
the  structure  at  a,  being  of  the  required  pro- 
jection, is  found  too  weak :  then  we  may 
strengthen  it  in  one  of  three  ways  ;  (1)  by  put- 
ting a  second  or  third  stone  beneath  it,  as  at  b  ; 
(2)  by  giving  it  a  spur,  as  at  c ;  (3)  by  giving  it 
a  shaft  and  another  bracket  below,  d  ;  the  great 
use  of  this  arrangement  being  that  the  lowermost  bracket  has 
the  help  of  the  weight  of  the  shaft  length  of  wall  above  its  in- 
sertion, which  is,  of  course,  greater  than  the  weight  of  the  small 
shaft :  and  then  the  lower  bracket  may  be  farther  helped  by 
the  structure  at  b  or  c. 


Fig.  XXXIX. 


THE  ROOF  CORNICE. 


165 


§  xiii.  Of  these  structures,  a  and  c  are  evidently  adapted 
especially  for  wooden  buildings  ;  b  and  d  for  stone  ones ; 
the  last,  of  course,  susceptible  of  the  richest  decoration, 
and  superbly  employed  in  the  cornice  of  the  cathedral  of 
Monza  :  but  all  are  beautiful  in  their  way,  and  are  _____ 
the  means  of,  I  think,  nearly  half  the  picturesque- 
ness  and  power  of  mediaeval  building  ;  the  forms  b 
and  c  being,  of  course,  the  most  frequent ;  a,  when  $  I 
it  occurs,  being  usually  rounded  off,  as  at  a,  Fig.  vj 
XL. ;  b,  also,  as  in  Fig.  XXXVIII,  or  else  itself 
composed  of  a  single  stone  cut  into  the  form  of  the 
group  b  here,  Fig.  XL.,  or  plain,  as  at  c,  which  is 
also  the  proper  form  of  the  brick  bracket,  when  stone 
is  not  to  be  had.    The  reader  will  at  once  perceive  d 
that  the  form  d  is  a  barbarism  (unless  when  the 
scale  is  small  and  the  weight  to  be  carried  exceed- 
ingly light) :  it  is  of  course,  therefore,  a  favorite  form    FlG-  XL* 
with  the  Renaissance  architects ;  and  its  introduction  is  one 
of  the  first  corruptions  of  the  Venetian  architecture. 

§  xiv.  There  is  one  point  necessary  to  be  noticed,  though 
bearing  on  decoration  more  than  construction,  before  we  leave 
the  subject  of  the  bracket.  The  whole  power  of  the  con- 
struction depends  upon  the  stones  being  well  let  into  the 
wall ;  and  the  first  function  of  the  decoration  should  be 
to  give  the  idea  of  this  insertion,  if  possible  ;  at  all 
events,  not  to  contradict  this  idea.  If  the  reader 
will  glance  at  any  of  the  brackets  used  in  the  ordi- 
nary architecture  of  London,  he  will  find  them  of 
some  such  character  as  Fig.  XLI.  ;  not  a  bad  form 
in  itself,  but  exquisitely  absurd  in  its  curling  lines, 
fig.  xli.  which  give  the  idea  of  some  writhing  suspended 
tendril,  instead  of  a  stiff  support,  and  by  their  careful 
avoidance  of  the  wall  make  the  bracket  look  pinned  on,  and 
in  constant  danger  of  sliding  down.  This  is,  also,  a  Classical 
and  Renaissance  decoration. 

§  xv.  2.  The  Parapet.  Its  forms  are  fixed  in  military 
architecture  by  the  necessities  of  the  art  of  war  at  the  time 
of  building,  and  are  always  beautiful  wherever  they  have  beei* 


166 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


really  thus  fixed  ;  delightful  in  the  variety  of  their  setting,  and 
in  the  quaint  darkness  of  their  shot-holes,  and  fantastic  changes 
of  elevation  and  outline.  Nothing  is  more  remarkable  than 
the  swiftly  discerned  difference  between  the  masculine  irregu- 
larity of  such  true  battlements,  and  the  formal  pitifulness  of 
those  which  are  set  on  modern  buildings  to  give  them  a  mili- 
tary air, — as  on  the  jail  at  Edinburgh. 

§  xvi.  Respecting  the  Parapet  for  mere  safeguard  upon 
buildings  not  military,  there  are  just  two  fixed  laws.  It  should 
be  pierced,  otherwise  it  is  not  recognised  from  below  for  a 
parapet  at  all,  and  it  should  not  be  in  the  form  of  a  battle- 
ment, especially  in  church  architecture. 

The  most  comfortable  heading  of  a  true  parapet  is  a  plain 
level  on  which  the  arm  can  be  rested,  and  along  which  it  can 
glide.  Any  jags  or  elevations  are  disagreeable  ;  the  latter,  as 
interrupting  the  view  and  disturbing  the  eye,  if  they  are 
higher  than  the  arm,  the  former,  as  opening  some  aspect  of 
danger  if  they  are  much  lower  ;  and  the  inconvenience,  there- 
fore, of  the  battlemented  form,  as  well  as  the  worse  than  ab- 
surdity, the  bad  feeling,  of  the  appliance  of  a  military  feature 
to  a  church,  ought  long  ago  to  have  determined  its  rejection. 
Still  (for  the  question  of  its  picturesque  value  is  here  so 
closely  connected  with  that  of  its  practical  use,  that  it  is  vain 
to  endeavor  to  discuss  it  separately)  there  is  a  certain  agree- 
ableness  in  the  way  in  which  the  jagged  outline  dovetails  the 
shadow  of  the  slated  or  leaded  roof  into  the  top  of  the  wall, 
which  may  make  the  use  of  the  battlement  excusable  where 
there  is  a  difficulty  in  managing  some  unvaried  line,  and 
where  the  expense  of  a  pierced  parapet  cannot  be  encoun- 
tered :  but  remember  always,  that  the  value  of  the  battlement 
consists  in  its  letting  shadow  into  the  light  of  the  wall,  or 
vice  versa,  when  it  comes  against  light  sky,  letting  the  light 
of  the  sky  into  the  shade  of  the  wall ;  but  that  the  actual  out- 
line of  the  parapet  itself,  if  the  eye  be  arrested  upon  this, 
instead  of  upon  the  alternation  of  shadow,  is  as  ugly  a  suc- 
cession of  line  as  can  by  any  possibility  be  invented.  There- 
fore, the  battlemented  parapet  may  only  be  used  where  this 
alternation  of  shade  is  certain  to  be  shown,  under  nearly  all 


THE  MOOF  CORNICE. 


16? 


conditions  of  effect ;  and  where  the  lines  to  be  dealt  with  ar« 
on  a  scale  which  may  admit  battlements  of  bold  and  manly 
size.  The  idea  that  a  battlement  is  an  ornament  anywhere^ 
and  that  a  miserable  and  diminutive  imitation  of  castellated 
outline  will  always  serve  to  fill  up  blanks  and  Gothicise  un- 
manageable spaces,  is  one  of  the  great  idiocies  of  the  present 
day.  A  battlement  is  in  its  origin  a  piece  of  wall  large 
enough  to  cover  a  man's  body,  and  however  it  may  be  deco- 
rated, or  pierced,  or  finessed  away  into  traceries,  as  long  as 
so  much  of  its  outline  is  retained  as  to  suggest  its  origin,  so 
long  its  size  must  remain  undiminished.  To  crown  a  turret 
six  feet  high  with  chopped  battlements  three  inches  wide,  is 
children's  Gothic  :  it  is  one  of  the  paltry  falsehoods  for  which 
there  is  no  excuse,  and  part  of  the  system  of  using  models  of 
architecture  to  decorate  architecture,  which  we  shall  hereafter 
note  as  one  of  the  chief  and  most  destructive  follies  of  the 
Eenaissance ;  *  and  in  the  present  day  the  practice  maybe 
classed  as  one  which  distinguishes  the  architects  of  whom 
there  is  no  hope,  who  have  neither  eye  nor  head  for  their 
work,  and  who  must  pass  their  lives  in  \ain  struggles  against 
the  refractory  lines  of  their  own  buildings. 

§  xvn.  As  the  only  excuse  for  the  battlemented  parapet  is 
its  alternation  of  shadow,  so  the  only  fault  of  the  natural  or 
level  parapet  is  its  monotony  of  line.  This  is,  however,  in 
practice,  almost  always  broken  by  the  pinnacles  of  the  but- 
tresses, and  if  not,  may  be  varied  by  the  tracery  of  its  pene- 
trations. The  forms  of  these  evidently  admit  every  kind  of 
change  ;  for  a  stone  parapet,  however  pierced,  is  sure  to  be 
strong  enough  for  its  purpose  of  protection,  and,  as  regards 

*  Not  of  Renaissance  alone  :  the  practice  of  modelling  buildings  on  a 
minute  scale  for  niches  and  tabernacle-work  has  always  been  more  or 
less  admitted,  and  I  suppose  authority  for  diminutive  battlements  might 
be  gathered  from  the  Gothic  of  almost  every  period,  as  well  as  for  many 
other  faults  and  mistakes:  no  Gothic  school  having  ever  been  thor- 
oughly systematised  or  perfected,  even  in  its  best  times.  But  that  a 
mistaken  decoration  sometimes  occurs  among  a  crowd  of  noble  ones,  is 
no  more  an  excuse  for  the  habitual — far  less,  the  exclusive — use  of 
such  a  decoration,  than  the  accidental  or  seeming  misconstructions  of  a 
Greek  chorus  are  an  excuse  for  a  school  boy's  ungrammatical  exercise. 


THE  STONES  OF  VENTOH 


the  strength  of  the  building  in  general,  the  lighter  it  is  the 
better.  More  fantastic  forms  may,  therefore,  be  admitted  in 
a  parapet  than  in  any  other  architectural  feature,  and  for  most 
services,  the  Flamboyant  parapets  seem  to  me  preferable  to 
all  others  ;  especially  when  the  leaden  roofs  set  off  by  points 
of  darkness  the  lace-like  intricacy  of  penetration.  These, 
however,  as  well  as  the  forms  usually  given  to  Renaissance 
balustrades  (of  which,  by  the  bye,  the  best  piece  of  criticism 
I  know  is  the  sketch  in  "  David  Copperfield  "  of  the  personal 
appearance  of  the  man  who  stole  Jip),  and  the  other  and 
finer  forms  invented  by  Paul  Veronese  in  his  architectural 
backgrounds,  together  with  the  pure  columnar  balustrade  of 
Venice,  must  be  considered  as  altogether  decorative  features. 

§  xviii.  So  also  are,  of  course,  the  jagged  or  crown-like 
finishings  of  walls  employed  where  no  real  parapet  of  protec- 
tion is  desired  ;  originating  in  the  defences  of  outworks  and 
single  walls  :  these  are  used  much  in  the  east  on  walls  sur- 
rounding unroofed  courts.  The  richest  examples  of  such 
decoration  are  Arabian  ;  and  from  Cairo  they  seem  to  have 
been  brought  to  Venice.  It  is  probable  that  few  of  my 
readers,  however  familiar  the  general  form  of  the  Ducal 
Palace  may  have  been  rendered  to  them  by  innumerable  draw- 
ings, have  any  distinct  idea  of  its  roof,  owing  to  the  staying 
of  the  eye  on  its  superb  parapet,  of  which  we  shall  give  ac- 
count hereafter.  In  most  of  the  Venetian  cases  the  parapets 
which  surround  roofing  are  very  sufficient  for  protection,  ex- 
cept that  the  stones  of  which  they  are  composed  appear  loose 
and  infirm  :  but  their  purpose  is  entirely  decorative  ;  every 
wall,  whether  detached  or  roofed,  being  indiscriminately 
fringed  with  Arabic  forms  of  parapet,  more  or  less  Gothi- 
cised,  according  to  the  lateness  of  their  date. 

I  think  there  is  no  other  point  of  importance  requiring  il- 
lustration respecting  the  roof  itself,  or  its  cornice :  but  this 
Venetian  form  of  ornamental  parapet  connects  itself  curiously, 
at  the  angles  of  nearly  all  the  buildings  on  which  it  occurs, 
with  the  pinnacled  system  of  the  north,  founded  on  the  struct- 
ure of  the  buttress.  This,  it  will  be  remembered,  is  to  be 
the  subject  of  the  fifth  division  of  our  inquiry. 


THE  BUTTRESS. 


169 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  BUTTRESS. 

§  i.  We  have  hitherto  supposed  ourselves  concerned  with 
fche  support  of  vertical  pressure  only  ;  and  the  arch  and  roof 
have  been  considered  as  forms  of  abstract  strength,  without 
reference  to  the  means  by  which  their  lateral  pressure  was  to 
be  resisted.  Few  readers  will  need  now  to  be  reminded,  that 
every  arch  or  gable  not  tied  at  its  base  by  beams  or  bars,  ex- 
ercises a  lateral  pressure  upon  the  walls  which  sustain  it, — 
pressure  which  may,  indeed,  be  met  and  sustained  by  increas- 
ing the  thickness  of  the  wall  or  vertical  piers,  and  which  is  in 
reality  thus  met  in  most  Italian  buildings,  but  may,  with  less 
expenditure  of  material,  and  with  (perhaps)  more  graceful 
effect,  be  met  by  some  particular  application  of  the  provisions 
against  lateral  pressure  called  Buttresses.  These,  therefore, 
we  are  next  to  examine. 

§  ii.  Buttresses  are  of  many  kinds,  according  to  the  char- 
acter and  direction  of  the  lateral  forces  they  are  intended  to 
resist.  But  their  first  broad  division  is  into  buttresses  which 
meet  and  break  the  force  before  it  arrives  at  the  wall,  and 
buttresses  which  stand  on  the  lee  side  of  the  wall,  and  prop  it 
against  the  force. 

The  lateral  forces  which  walls  have  to  sustain  are  of  three 
distinct  kinds :  dead  weight,  as  of  masonry  or  still  water ; 
moving  weight,  as  of  wind  or  running  water  ;  and  sudden 
concussion,  as  of  earthquakes,  explosions,  &c. 

Clearly,  dead  weight  can  only  be  resisted  by  the  buttress 
acting  as  a  prop  ;  for  a  buttress  on  the  side  of,  or  towards 
the  weight,  would  only  add  to  its  effect.  This,  then,  forms 
the  first  great  class  of  buttressed  architecture  ;  lateral  thrusts, 
of  roofing  or  arches,  being  met  by  props  of  masonry  outside — 
the  thrusts  from  within,  the  prop  without ;  or  the  crushing 
force  of  water  on  a  ship's  side  met  by  its  cross  timbers — the 
thrust  here  from  without  the  wall,  the  prop  within. 

Moving  weight  may,  of  course,  be  resisted  by  the  prop  on 


170 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


the  lee  side  of  the  wall,  but  is  often  more  effectually  met,  on 
the  side  which  is  attacked,  by  buttresses  of  peculiar  forms, 
cunning  buttresses,  which  do  not  attempt  to  sustain  the 
weight,  but  parry  it,  and  throw  it  off  in  directions  clear  of 
the  wall. 

Thirdly  :  concussions  and  vibratory  motion,  though  in  real- 
ity only  supported  by  the  prop  buttress,  must  be  provided 
for  by  buttresses  on  both  sides  of  the  wall,  as  their  direction 
cannot  be  foreseen,  and  is  continually  changing. 

We  shall  briefly  glance  at  these  three  systems  of  buttress- 
ing ;  but  the  two  latter  being  of  small  importance  to  our  pres- 
ent purpose,  may  as  well  be  dismissed  first. 

§  in.  1.  Buttresses  for  guard  against  moving  weight  and 
set  towards  the  weight  they  resist. 

The  most  familiar  instance  of  this  kind  of  buttress  we  have 
in  the  sharp  piers  of  a  bridge,  in  the  centre  of  a  powerful 
stream,  which  divide  the  current  on  their  edges,  and  throw  it 
to  each  side  under  the  arches.  A  ship's  bow  is  a  buttress  of 
the  same  kind,  and  so  also  the  ridge  of  a  breastplate,  both 
adding  to  the  strength  of  it  in  resisting  a  cross  blow,  and  giv- 
ing a  better  chance  of  a  bullet  glancing  aside.  In  Switzer- 
land, projecting  buttresses  of  this  kind  are  often  built  round 
churches,  heading  up  hill,  to  divide  and  throw  off  the  ava- 
lanches. The  various  forms  given  to  piers  and  harbor  quays, 
and  to  the  bases  of  lighthouses,  in  order  to  meet  the  force  of 
the  waves,  are  all  conditions  of  this  kind  of  buttress.  But  in 
works  of  ornamental  architecture  such  buttresses  are  of  rare 
occurrence  ;  and  I  merely  name  them  in  order  to  mark  their 
place  in  our  architectural  system,  since  in  the  investigation  of 
our  present  subject  we  shall  not  meet  with  a  single  example 
of  them,  unless  sometimes  the  angle  of  the  foundation  of  a 
palace  set  against  the  sweep  of  the  tide,  or  the  wooden  piers 
of  some  canal  bridge  quivering  in  its  current. 

§  rv.  2.  Buttresses  for  guard  against  vibratory  motion. 

The  whole  formation  of  this  kind  of  buttress  resolves  itself 
into  mere  expansion  of  the  base  of  the  wall,  so  as  to  make  it 
stand  steadier,  as  a  man  stands  with  his  feet  apart  when  he  is 
likely  to  lose  his  balance.    This  approach  to  a  pyramidal  form 


THE  BUTTRESS. 


is  also  of  great  use  as  a  guard  against  the  action  of  artillery ; 
that  if  a  stone  or  tier  of  stones  be  battered  out  of  the  lower 
portions  of  the  wall,  the  whole  upper  part  may  not  topple  over 
or  crumble  down  at  once.  Various  forms  of  this  buttress, 
sometimes  applied  to  particular  points  of  the  wall,  sometimes 
forming  a  great  sloping  rampart  along  its  base,  are  frequent 
in  buildings  of  countries  exposed  to  earthquake.  They  give 
a  peculiarly  heavy  outline  to  much  of  the  architecture  of  the 
kingdom  of  Naples,  and  they  are  of  the  form  in  which  strength 
and  solidity  are  first  naturally  sought,  in  the  slope  of  the 
Egyptian  wall.  The  base  of  Guy's  Tower  at  Warwick  is  a 
singularly  bold  example  of  their  military  use  ;  and  so,  in  gen- 
eral, bastion  and  rampart  profiles,  where,  however,  the  object 
of  stability  against  a  shock  is  complicated  with  that  of  sustain- 
ing weight  of  earth  in  the  rampart  behind. 

§  v.  3.  Prop  buttresses  against  dead  weight. 

This  is  the  group  with  which  we  have  principally  to  do ; 
and  a  buttress  of  this  kind  acts  in  two  ways,  partly  by  its 
weight  and  partly  by  its  strength.  It  acts  by  its  weight  when 
its  mass  is  so  great  that  the  weight  it  sustains  cannot  stir  it, 
but  is  lost  upon  it,  buried  in  it,  and  annihilated  :  neither  the 
shape  of  such  a  buttress  nor  the  cohesion  of  its  materials  are 
of  much  consequence  ;  a  heap  of  stones  or  sandbags,  laid  up 
against  the  wall,  will  answer  as  well  as  a  built  and  cemented 
mass. 

But  a  buttress  acting  by  its  strength  is  not  of  mass  suffi- 
cient to  resist  the  weight  by  mere  inertia  ;  but  it  conveys  the 
weight  through  its  body  to  something  else  which  is  so  capa- 
ble ;  as,  for  instance,  a  man  leaning  against  a  door  with  his 
hands,  and  propping  himself  against  the  ground,  conveys  the 
force  which  would  open  or  close  the  door  against  him  through 
his  body  to  the  ground.  A  buttress  acting  in  this  way  must 
be  of  perfectly  coherent  materials,  and  so  strong  that  though 
the  weight  to  be  borne  could  easily  move  it,  it  cannot  break 
it :  this  kind  of  buttress  may  be  called  a  conducting  buttress. 
Practically,  however,  the  two  modes  of  action  are  always  in 
some  sort  united.  Again,  the  weight  to  be  borne  may  either 
act  generally  on  the  whole  wall  surface,  or  with  excessive  en- 


172 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


ergy  on  particular  points  :  when  it  acts  on  the  whole  wall  sur- 
face, the  whole  wall  is  generally  supported  ;  and  the  arrange- 
ment becomes  a  continuous  rampart,  as  a  dyke,  or  bank  oi 
reservoir. 

§  vi.  It  is,  however,  very  seldom  that  lateral  force  in  archi- 
tecture is  equally  distributed.  In  most  cases  the  weight  of 
the  roof,  or  the  force  of  any  lateral  thrust,  are  more  or  less 
confined  to  certain  points  and  directions.  In  an  early  state  of 
architectural  science  this  definiteness  of  direction  is  not  yet 
clear,  and  it  is  met  by  uncertain  application  of  mass  or 
strength  in  the  buttress,  sometimes  by  mere  thickening  of  the 
wall  into  square  piers,  which  are  partly  piers,  partly  buttresses, 
as  in  Norman  keeps  and  towers.  But  as  science  advances,  the 
weight  to  be  borne  is  designedly  and  decisively  thrown  upon 
certain  points ;  the  direction  and  degree  of  the  forces  which 
are  then  received  are  exactly  calculated,  and  met  by  conduct- 
ing buttresses  of  the  smallest  possible  dimensions  ;  themselves, 
in  their  turn,  supported  by  vertical  buttresses  acting  by  weight, 
and  these  perhaps,  in  their  turn,  by  another  set  of  conducting 
buttresses  :  so  that,  in  the  best  examples  of  such  arrange- 
ments, the  weight  to  be  borne  may  be  considered  as  the  shock 
of  an  electric  fluid,  which,  by  a  hundred  different  rods  and 
channels,  is  divided  and  carried  away  into  the  ground. 

§  vn.  In  order  to  give  greater  weight  to  the  vertical  but- 
tress piers  which  sustain  the  conducting  buttresses,  they  are 
loaded  with  pinnacles,  which,  however,  are,  I  believe,  in  all 
the  buildings  in  which  they  become  very  prominent,  merely 
decorative  :  they  are  of  some  use,  indeed,  by  their  weight ; 
but  if  this  were  all  for. which  they  were  put  there,  a  few  cubic 
feet  of  lead  would  much  more  securely  answer  the  purpose, 
without  any  danger  from  exposure  to  wind.  If  the  reader 
likes  to  ask  any  Gothic  architect  with  whom  he  may  happen 
to  be  acquainted,  to  substitute  a  lump  of  lead  for  his  pinnacles, 
he  will  see  by  the  expression  of  his  face  how  far  he  considers 
the  pinnacles  decorative  members.  In  the  work  which  seems 
to  me  the  great  type  of  simple  and  masculine  buttress  struct- 
ure, the  apse  of  Beauvais,  the  pinnacles  are  altogether  insig- 
nificant, and  are  evidently  added  just  as  exclusively  to  enter- 


ftlE  BUTTRESS. 


tain  the  eye  and  lighten  the  aspect  of  the  buttress,  as  the 
slight  shafts  which  are  set  on  its  angles  ;  while  in  other  very 
noble  Gothic  buildings  the  pinnacles  are  introduced  as  niches 
for  statues,  without  any  reference  to  construction  at  all :  and 
sometimes  even,  as  in  the  tomb  of  Can  Signoria  at  Verona,  on 
small  piers  detached  from  the  main  building. 

§  viii.  I  believe,  therefore,  that  the  development  of  the  pin- 
nacle is  merely  a  part  of  the  general  erectness  and  picturesque- 
ness  of  northern  work  above  alluded  to  :  and  that,  if  there  had 
been  no  other  place  for  the  pinnacles,  the  Gothic  builders 
would  have  put  them  on  the  tops  of  their  arches  (they  often 
did  on  the  tops  of  gables  and  pediments),  rather  than  not  have 
had  them  ;  but  the  natural  position  of  the  pinnacle  is,  of 
course,  wThere  it  adds  to,  rather  than  diminishes,  the  stability 
of  the  building  ;  that  is  to  say,  on  its  main  wall  piers  and  the 
vertical  piers  at  the  buttresses.  And  thus  the  edifice  is  sur- 
rounded at  last  by  a  complete  company  of  detached  piers  and 
pinnacles,  each  sustaining  an  inclined  prop  against  the  central 
wall,  and  looking  something  like  a  band  of  giants  holding  it 
up  with  the  butts  of  their  lances.  This  arrangement  would 
imply  the  loss  of  an  enormous  space  of  ground,  but  the  inter- 
vals of  the  buttresses  are  usually  walled  in  below,  and  form 
minor  chapels. 

§  ix.  The  science  of  this  arrangement  has  made  it  the 
subject  of  much  enthusiastic  declamation  among  the  Gothic 
architects,  almost  as  unreasonable,  in  some  respects,  as  the 
declamation  of  the  Renaissance  architects  respecting  Greek 
structure.  The  fact  is,  that  the  whole  northern  buttress  sys- 
tem is  based  on  the  grand  requirement  of  tall  windows  and 
vast  masses  of  light  at  the  end  of  the  apse.  In  order  to  gain 
this  quantity  of  light,  the  piers  between  the  windows  are  di- 
minished in  thickness  until  they  are  far  too  weak  to  bear  the 
roof,  and  then  sustained  by  external  buttresses.  In  the  Italian 
method  the  light  is  rather  dreaded  than  desired,  and  the  wall 
is  made  wide  enough  between  the  windows  to  bear  the  roof, 
and  so  left.  In  fact,  the  simplest  expression  of  the  difference 
in  the  systems  is,  that  a  northern  apse  is  a  southern  one  with 
its  inter-fenestrial  piers  set  edgeways.    Thus,  a,  Fig.  XLIL,  is 


174 


THE  STONES  OP  VENICE. 


the  general  idea  of  the  southern  apse  ;  take  it  to  pieces,  and 
set  all  its  piers  edgeways,  as  at  b,  and  you  have  the  northern 
one.  You  gain  much  light  for  the  interior,  but  you  cut  the 
exterior  to  pieces,  and  instead  of  a  bold  rounded  or  polygonal 
surface,  ready  for  any  kind  of  decoration,  you  have  a  series 
of  dark  and  damp  cells,  which  no  device  that  I  have  yet  seen 
has  succeeded  in  decorating  in  a  perfectly  satisfactory  man- 
ner. If  the  system  be  farther  carried,  and  a  second  or  third 
order  of  buttresses  be  added,  the  real  fact  is  that  we  have  a 
building  standing  on  two  or  three  rows  of  concentric  piers, 
with  the  roof  off  the  whole  of  it  except  the  central  circle,  and 
only  ribs  left,  to  carry  the  weight  of  the  bit  of  remaining  roof 
in  the  middle  ;  and  after  ths  eye  has  been  accustomed  to  the 


bold  and  simple  rounding  of  the  Italian  apse,  the  skeleton 
character  of  the  disposition  is  painfully  felt.  After  spending 
some  months  in  Venice,  I  thought  Bourges  Cathedral  looked 
exactly  like  a  half -built  ship  on  its  shores.  It  is  useless,  how- 
ever, to  dispute  respecting  the  merits  of  the  two  systems  • 
both  are  noble  in  their  place  ;  the  Northern  decidedly  the 
most  scientific,  or  at  least  involving  the  greatest  display  of 
science,  the  Italian  the  calmest  and  purest,  this  having  ir>  it 
the  sublimity  of  a  calm  heaven  or  a  windless  noon,  the  other 
that  of  a  mountain  flank  tormented  by  the  no**th  wind,  and 
withering  into  grisly  furrows  of  alternate  chasm  a#d  crag. 

§  x.  If  I  have  succeeded  in  making  the  reader  understand 
the  veritable  action  of  the  buttress,  he  will  have  no  difficulty 
in  determining  its  fittest  form.  He  has  to  deal  with  two  dis- 
tinct kinds  ;  one,  a  narrow  vertical  pier,  acting  principally  by 


a 


Fig.  XLIL 


THE  BUTTRESS. 


175 


its  weight,  and  crowned  by  a  pinnacle  ;  the  other,  commonly 
called  a  Flying  buttress,  a  cross  bar  set  from  such  a  pier  (when 
detached  from  the  building)  against  the  main  wall.  This 
latter,  then,  is  to  be  considered  as  a  mere  prop  or  shore,  and 
its  use  by  the  Gothic  architects  might  be  illustrated  by  the 
supposition  that  we  were  to  build  all  our  houses  with  walls  too 
thin  to  stand  without  wooden  props  outside,  and  then  to  sub- 
stitute stone  props  for  wooden  ones.  I  have  some  doubts  of 
the  real  dignity  of  such  a  proceeding,  but  at  all  events  the 
merit  of  the  form  of  the  flying  buttress  depends  on  its  faith- 
fully and  visibly  performing  this  somewhat  humble  office  ;  it 
is,  therefore,  in  its  purity,  a  mere  sloping  bar  of  stone,  with 
an  arch  beneath  it  to  carry  its  weight,  that  is  to  say,  to  pre- 
vent the  action  of  gravity  from  in  any  wise  deflecting  it,  or 
causing  it  to  break  downwards  under  the  lateral  thrust ;  it  is 
thus  formed  quite  simple  in  Nortre  Dame  of  Paris,  and  in  the 
Cathedral  of  Beauvais,  while  at  Cologne  the  sloping  bars  are 
pierced  with  quatref oils,  and  at  Amiens  with  traceried  arches. 
Both  seem  to  me  effeminate  and  false  in  principle  ;  not,  of 
course,  that  there  is  any  occasion  to  make  the  flying  buttress 
heavy,  if  a  light  one  will  answer  the  purpose  ;  but  it  seems  as 
if  some  security  were  sacrificed  to  ornament.  At  Amiens  the 
arrangement  is  now  seen  to  great  disadvantage,  for  the  early 
traceries  have  been  replaced  by  base  flamboyant  ones,  utterly 
weak  and  despicable.  Of  the  degradations  of  the  original 
form  which  took  place  in  after  times,  I  have  spoken  at  p.  35 
of  the  "  Seven  Lamps." 

§  xi.  The  form  of  the  common  buttress  must  be  familar  to 
the  eye  of  every  reader,  sloping  if  low,  and  thrown  into 
successive  steps  if  they  are  to  be  carried  to  any  considerable 
height.  There  is  much  dignity  in  them  when  they  are  of 
essential  service  ;  but  even  in  their  best  examples,  their  awk- 
ward angles  are  among  the  least  manageable  features  of  the 
Northern  Gothic,  and  the  whole  organisation  of  its  system  was 
destroyed  by  their  unnecessary  and  lavish  application  on  a 
diminished  scale  ;  until  the  buttress  became  actually  confused 
with  the  shaft,  and  we  find  strangely  crystallised  masses  of 
diminutive  buttress  applied,  for  merely  vertical  support,  in  the 


176 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


northern  tabernacle  work ;  while  in  some  recent  copies  of  it 
the  principle  has  been  so  far  distorted  that  the  tiny  buttress- 
ings  look  as  if  they  carried  the  superstructure  on  the  points 
of  their  pinnacles,  as  in  the  Cranmer  memorial  at  Oxford, 
Indeed,  in  most  modern  Gothic,  the  architects  evidently  con- 
sider buttresses  as  convenient  breaks  of  blank  surface,  and 
general  apologies  for  deadness  of  wall.  They  stand  in  the 
place  of  ideas,  and  I  think  are  supposed  also  to  have  something 
of  the  odor  of  sanctity  about  them  ;  otherwise,  one  hardly  sees 
why  a  warehouse  seventy  feet  high  should  have  nothing  of  the 
kind,  and  a  chapel,  which  one  can  just  get  into  with  one's  hat 
off,  should  have  a  bunch  of  them  at  every  corner ;  and  worse 
than  this,  they  are  even  thought  ornamental  when  they  can  be 
of  no  possible  use  ;  and  these  stupid  penthouse  outlines  are 
forced  upon  the  eye  in  every  species  of  decoration  :  in  St. 
Margaret's  Chapel,  West  Street,  there  are  actually  a  couple  of 
buttresses  at  the  end  of  every  pew. 

§  xn.  It  is  almost  impossible,  in  consequence  of  these  un- 
wise repetitions  of  it,  to  contemplate  the  buttress  without  some 
degree  of  prejudice  ;  and  I  look  upon  it  as  one  of  the  most 
justifiable  causes  of  the  unfortunate  aversion  with  which  many 
of  our  best  architects  regard  the  whole  Gothic  school.  It 
may,  however,  always  be  regarded  with  respect  when  its  form 
is  simple  and  its  service  clear  ;  but  no  treason  to  Gothic  can  be 
greater  than  the  use  of  it  in  indolence  or  vanity,  to  enhance 
the  intricacies  of  structure,  or  occupy  the  vacuities  of  design. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

FORM    OF  APERTURE. 

§  l  We  have  now,  in  order,  examined  the  means  of  raising 
walls  and  sustaining  roofs,  and  we  have  finally  to  consider  the 
structure  of  the  necessary  apertures  in  the  wall  veil,  the  door 
and  window  ;  respecting  which  there  are  three  main  points  to 
be  considered. 


FORM  OF  APERTURE. 


177 


1.  The  form  of  the  aperture,  i.e.,  its  outline,  its  size,  and 

the  forms  of  its  sides. 

2.  The  filling  of  the  aperture,  i.e.,  valves  and  glass,  and 

their  holdings. 

3.  The  protection  of  the  aperture,  and  its  appliances,  i.e,: 

canopies,  porches,  and  balconies.    We  shall  examine 
these  in  succession. 

§  ii.  1.  The  form  of  the  aperture :  and  first  of  doors.  We 
will,  for  the  present,  leave  out  of  the  question  doors  and  gates 
in  unroofed  walls,  the  forms  of  these  being  very  arbitrary,  and 
confine  ourselves  to  the  consideration  of  doors  of  entrance  into 
roofed  buildings.  Such  doors  will,  for  the  most  part,  be  at, 
or  near,  the  base  of  the  building  ;  except  when  raised  for  pur- 
poses of  defence,  as  in  the  old  Scotch  border  towers,  and  our 
own  Martello  towers,  or,  as  in  Switzerland,  to  permit  access  in 
deep  snow,  or  when  stairs  are  carried  up  outside  the  house  for 
convenience  or  magnificence.  But  in  most  cases,  whether  high 
or  low,  a  door  may  be  assumed  to  be  considerably  lower  than 
the  apartments  or  buildings  into  which  it  gives  admission,  and 
therefore  to  have  some  height  of  wall  above  it,  whose  weight 
must  be  carried  by  the  heading  of  the  door.  It  is  clear,  there- 
fore, that  the  best  heading  must  be  an  arch,  because  the 
strongest,  and  that  a  square-headed  door  must  be  wrong,  unless 
under  Mont-Cenisian  masonry  ;  or  else,  unless  the  top  of  the 
door  be  the  roof  of  the  building,  as  in  low  cottages.  And  a 
square -headed  door  is  just  so  much  more  wrong  and  ugly  than 
a  connexion  of  main  shafts  by  lintels,  as  the  weight  of  wall 
above  the  door  is  likely  to  be  greater  than  that  above  the  main 
shafts.  Thus,  while  I  admit  the  Greek  general  forms  of  tem- 
ple to  be  admirable  in  their  kind,  1  think  the  Greek  door 
always  offensive  and  unmanageable. 

§  nr.  We  have  it  also  determined  by  necessity,  that  the 
apertures  shall  be  at  least  above  a  man's  height,  with  perpen- 
dicular sides  (for  sloping  sides  are  evidently  unnecessary,  and 
even  inconvenient,  therefore  absurd)  and  level  threshold  ;  and 
this  aperture  we  at  present  suppose  simply  cut  through  the 
wall  without  any  bevelling  of  the  jambs.  Such  a  door,  wide  \ 
You  1.-12 


178 


TEN  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


enough  for  two  persons  to  pass  each  other  easily,  and  with 
such  fillings  or  valves  as  we  may  hereafter  find  expedient, 
may  be  fit  enough  for  any  building  into  which  entrance  is  re- 
quired neither  often,  nor  by  many  persons  at  a  time.  But 
when  entrance  and  egress  are  constant,  or  required  by 
crowds,  certain  further  modifications  must  take  place. 

§  iv.  When  entrance  and  egress  are  constant,  it  may  be 
supposed  that  the  valves  will  be  absent  or  unfastened, — that 

people  will  be  passing  more  quickly 
than  when  the  entrance  and  egress 
are  un  frequent,  and  that  the  square 
angles  of  the  wall  will  be  incon- 
venient to  such  quick  passers 
through.  It  is  evident,  therefore, 
that  what  would  be  done  in  time, 
for  themselves,  by  the  passing 
multitude,  should  be  done  for  them  at  once  by  the  architect ; 
and  that  these  angles,  which  would  be  worn  away  by  friction, 
should  at  once  be  bevelled  off,  or,  as  it  is  called,  splayed,  and 
the  most  contracted  part  of  the  aperture  made  as  short  as  pos- 
sible, so  that  the  plan  of  the  entrance  should  become  as  at  a, 
Fig.  XLIII. 

§  v.  Farther.  As  persons  on  the  outside  may  often  ap- 
proach the  door  or  depart  from  it,  beside  the  building,  so  as 
to  turn  aside  as  they  enter  or  leave  the  door,  and  therefore 
touch  its  jamb,  but,  on  the  inside,  will  in  almost  every  case 
approach  the  door,  or  depart  from  it  in  the  direct  line  of  the 
entrance  (people  generally  walking  forward  when  they  enter 
a  hall,  court,  or  chamber  of  any  kind,  and  being  forced  to  do 
so  when  they  enter  a  passage),  it  is  evident  that  the  bevelling 
may  be  very  slight  on  the  inside,  but  should  be  large  on  the 
outside,  so  that  the  plan  of  the  aperture  should  become  as  at 
6,  Fig.  XLIII.  Farther,  as  the  bevelled  wall  cannot  con- 
veniently carry  an  unbevelled  arch,  the  door  arch  must  be 
bevelled  also,  and  the  aperture,  seen  from  the  outside,  will 
have  somewhat  the  aspect  of  a  small  cavern  diminishing  to- 
wards the  interior. 

§  vi.  If3  however,  beside  frequent  entrance,  entrance  is  re 


FORM  OF  APERTURE. 


179 


quired  for  multitudes  at  the  same  time,  the  size  of  the  aper- 
ture either  must  be  increased,  or  other  apertures  must  be  in- 
troduced. It  may,  in  some  buildings,  be  optional  with  the* 
architect  whether  he  shall  give  many  small  doors,  or  few 
large  ones  ;  and  in  some,  as  theatres,  amphitheatres,  and 
other  places  where  the  crowd  are  apt  to  be  impatient,  many 
doors  are  by  far  the  best  arrangement  of  the  two.  Often, 
however,  the  purposes  of  the  building,  as  when  it  is  to  be  en- 
tered by  processions,  or  where  the  crowd  most  usually  enter 
in  one  direction,  require  the  large  single  entrance  ;  and  (for 
here  again  the  aesthetic  and  structural  laws  cannot  be  sepa- 
rated) the  expression  and  harmony  of  the  building  require,  in 
nearly  every  case,  an  entrance  of  largeness  proportioned  to 
the  multitude  which  is  to  meet  within.  Nothing  is  more  un- 
seemly than  that  a  great  multitude  should  find  its  way  out 
and  in,  as  ants  and  wasps  do,  through  holes  ;  and  nothing 
more  undignified  than  the  paltry  doors  of  many  of  our  Eng- 
lish cathedrals,  which  look  as  if  they  were  made,  not  for  the 
open  egress,  but  for  the  surreptitious  drainage  of  a  stagnant 
congregation.  Besides,  the  expression  of  the  church  door 
should  lead  us,  as  far  as  possible,  to  desire  at  least  the  west- 
ern entrance  to  be  single,  partly  because  no  man  of  right 
feeling  would  willingly  lose  the  idea  of  unity  and  fellowship 
in  going  up  to  worship,  which  is  suggested  by  the  vast  single 
entrance ;  partly  because  it  is  at  the  entrance  that  the  most 
serious  words  of  the  building  are  always  addressed,  by  its 
sculptures  or  inscriptions,  to  the  worshipper ;  and  it  is  well, 
that  these  words  should  be  spoken  to  all  at  once,  as  by  one  great 
voice,  not  broken  up  into  weak  repetitions  over  minor  doors. 

In  practice  the  matter  has  been,  I  suppose,  regulated  almost 
altogether  by  convenience,  the  western  doors  being  single  in 
small  churches,  while  in  the  larger  the  entrances  become  three 
or  five,  the  central  door  remaining  always  principal,  in  con- 
sequence of  the  fine  sense  of  composition  which  the  mediaeval 
builders  never  lost.  These  arrangements  have  formed  the 
noblest  buildings  in  the  world.    Yet  it  is  worth  observing* 

*  And  worth  questioning,  also,  whether  the  triple  porch  has  not  been 
associated  with  Romanist  views  of  mediatorship ;  the  Redeemer  being 


180 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


how  perfect  in  its  simplicity  the  single  entrance  may  becomes 
when  it  is  treated  as  in  the  Duomo  and  St.  Zeno  of  Verona 
and  other  such  early  Lombard  churches,  having  noble  porches, 
and  rich  sculptures  grouped  around  the  entrance. 

§  vii.  However,  whether  the  entrances  be  single,  triple,  or 
manifold,  it  is  a  constant  law  that  one  shall  be  principal,  and 
all  shall  be  of  size  in  some  degree  proportioned  to  that  of 
the  building.  And  this  size  is,  of  course,  chiefly  to  be  ex- 
pressed in  width,  that  being  the  only  useful  dimension  in  a 
door  (except  for  pageantry,  chairing  of  bishops  and  waving  ol 
banners,  and  other  such  vanities,  not,  I  hope,  after  this  cen- 
tury, much  to  be  regarded  in  the  building  of  Christian 
temples)  ;  but  though  the  width  is  the  only  necessary  dimen- 
sion, it  is  well  to  increase  the  height  also  in  some  proportion 
to  it,  in  order  that  there  may  be  less  weight  of  wall  above, 
resting  on  the  increased  span  of  the  arch.  This  is,  however, 
so  much  the  necessary  result  of  the  broad  curve  of  the  arch 
itself,  that  there  is  no  structural  necessity  of  elevating  the 
jamb  ;  and  I  believe  that  beautiful  entrances  might  be  made 
of  every  span  of  arch,  retaining  the  jamb  at  a  little  more  than 
a  man's  height,  until  the  sweep  of  the  curves  became  so  vast 
that  the  small  vertical  line  became  a  part  of  them,  and  one 
entered  into  the  temple  as  under  a  great  rainbow. 

§  vni.  On  the  other  hand,  the  jamb  may  be  elevated  indef- 
initely, so  that  the  increasing  entrance  retains  at  lead  the 
proportion  of  width  it  had  originally  ;  say  4  ft.  by  7  ft.  5  in. 
But  a  less  proportion  of  width  than  this  has  always  a  meagre, 
inhospitable,  and  ungainly  look  except  in  military  architecture, 
where  the  narrowness  of  the  entrance  is  necessary,  and  its 

represented  as  presiding  over  the  central  door  only,  and  the  lateral  en~ 
trances  being  under  the  protection  of  saints,  while  the  Madonna  almost 
always  has  one  or  both  of  the  transepts.  But  it  would  be  wrong  to  press 
this,  for,  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  the  architect  has  been  merely  influenced 
in  his  placing  of  the  statues  by  an  artist's  desire  or  variety  in  their  forms 
and  dress ;  and  very  naturally  prefers  putting  a  canonisation  over  one 
door,  a  martyrdom  over  another,  and  an  assumption  over  a  third,  to 
repeating  a  crucifixion  or  a  judgment  above  all.  The  architect's  doctrine 
is  only,  therefore,  to  be  noted  with  indisputable  reprobation  when  the 
Madonna  gets  possession  of  the  main  door. 


FORM  OF  APERTURF. 


181 


height  adds  to  its  grandeur,  as  between  the  entrance  towers 
of  our  British  castles.  This  law  however,  observe,  applies 
only  to  true  doors,  not  to  the  arches  of  porches,  which  may  be 
of  any  proportion,  as  of  any  number,  being  in  fact  interco- 
lumniations,  not  doors ;  as  in  the  noble  example  of  the  west 
front  of  Peterborough,  which,  in  spite  of  the  destructive 
absurdity  of  its  central  arch  being  the  narrowest,  would  still, 
if  the  paltry  porter's  lodge,  or  gatehouse,  or  turnpike,  or  what- 
ever it  is,  were  knocked  out  of  the  middle  of  it,  be  the  noblest 
west  front  in  England. 

§  ix.  Further,  and  finally.  In  proportion  to  the  height  and 
size  of  the  building,  and  therefore  to  the  size  of  its  doors,  will 
be  the  thickness  of  its  walls,  especially  at  the  foundation,  that 
is  to  say,  beside  the  doors  ;  and  also  in  proportion  to  the 
numbers  of  a  crowd  will  be  the  unruliness  and  pressure  of  it. 
Hence,  partly  in  necessity  and  partly  in  prudence,  the  splay- 
ing or  chamfering  of  the  jamb  of  the  larger  door  will  be 
deepened,  and,  if  possible,  made  at  a  larger  angle  for  the  large 
door  than  for  the  small  one  ;  so  that  the  large  door  will  always 
be  encompassed  by  a  visible  breadth  of  jamb  proportioned  to 
its  own  magnitude.  The  decorative  value  of  this  feature  we 
shall  see  hereafter. 

§  x.  The  second  kind  of  apertures  we  have  to  examine 
are  those  of  windows. 

Window  apertures  are  mainly  of  two  kinds  ;  those  for  out- 
look,  and  those  for  inlet  of  light,  many  being  for  both  pur- 
poses, and  either  purpose,  or  both,  combined  in  military  archi- 
tecture with  those  of  offence  and  defence.  But  all  window 
apertures,  as  compared  with  door  apertures,  have  almost 
infinite  licence  of  form  and  size  :  they  may  be  of  any  shape, 
from  the  slit  or  cross  slit  to  the  circle  ;  *  of  any  size,  from  the 
loophole  of  the  castle  to  the  pillars  of  light  of  the  cathedral 
apse.    Yet,  according  to  their  place  and  purpose,  one  or  two 

*  The  arch,  heading  is  indeed  the  best  where  there  is  much  incumbent 
weight,  but  a  window  frequently  has  very  little  weight  above  it,  especial- 
ly when  placed  high,  and  the  arched  form  loses  light  in  a  low  room : 
therefore  the  square-headed  window  is  admissible  where  the  square- 
headed  door  is  not. 


182 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


laws  of  fitness  hold  respecting  them,  which  let  us  examine  in 
the  two  classes  of  windows  successively,  but  without  reference 
to  military  architecture,  which  here,  as  before,  we  may  dismiss 
as  a  subject  of  separate  science,  only  noticing  that  windows, 
like  all  other  features,  are  always  delightful,  if  not  beautiful, 
when  their  position  and  shape  have  indeed  been  thus  neces- 
sarily determined,  and  that  many  of  their  most  picturesque 
forms  have  resulted  from  the  requirements  of  war.  We  should 
also  find  in  military  architecture  the  typical  forms  of  the  two 
classes  of  outlet  and  inlet  windows  in  their  utmost  develop- 
ment ;  the  greatest  sweep  of  sight  and  range  of  shot  on  the 
one  hand,  and  the  fullest  entry  of  light  and  air  on  the  other, 
being  constantly  required  at  the  smallest  possible  apertures. 
Our  business,  however,  is  to  reason  out  the  laws  for  ourselves, 
not  to  take  the  examples  as  we  find  them. 

§  xi.  1.  Outlook  apertures.  For  these  no  general  outline  is 
determinable  by  the  necessities  or  inconveniences  of  outlook- 
ing,  except  only  that  the  bottom  or  sill  of  the  windows,  at 
whatever  height,  should  be  horizontal,  for  the  convenience  of 
leaning  on  it,  or  standing  on  it  if  the  window  be  to  the  ground. 
The  form  of  the  upper  part  of  the  window  is  quite  immaterial, 
for  all  windows  allow  a  greater  range  of  sight  when  they  are 
ajjproached  than  that  of  the  eye  itself :  it  is  the  approachability 
of  the  window,  that  is  to  say,  the  annihilation  of  the  thickness 
of  the  wall,  which  is  the  real  point  to  be  attended  to.  If, 
therefore,  the  aperture  be  inaccessible,  or  so  small  that  the 
thickness  of  the  wall  cannot  be  entered,  the  wall  is  to  be 
bevelled  *  on  the  outside,  so  as  to  increase  the  range  of  sight 
as  far  as  possible  ;  if  the  aperture  can  be  entered,  then  bevelled 
from  the  point  to  which  entrance  is  possible.  The  bevelling 
will,  if  possible,  be  in  every  direction,  that  is  to  say,  upwards 
at  the  top,  outwards  at  the  sides,  and  downwards  at  the  bottom, 
but  essentially  downwards  ;  the  earth  and  the  doings  upon  it 
being  the  chief  object  in  outlook  windows,  except  of  observa- 
tories; and  where  the  object  is  a  distinct  and  special  view 
downwards,  it  will  be  of  advantage  to  shelter  the  eye  as  far 

*  I  do  not  like  the  sound  of  the  word  '  4  splayed  ;  "  I  always  shall  use 
"bevelled"  instead. 


FORM  OF  APERTURE. 


183 


as  possible  from  the  rays  of  light  coming  from  above,  and  the 
head  of  the  window  may  be  left  horizontal,  or  even  the  whole 
aperture  sloped  outwards,  as  the  slit  in  a  letter-box  is  inwards. 

The  best  windows  for  outlook  are,  of  course,  oriels  and  bow 
windows,  but  these  are  not  to  be  considered  under  the  head 
of  apertures  merely ;  they  are  either  balconies  roofed  and 
glazed,  and  to  be  considered  under  the  head  of  external  appli- 
ances, or  they  are  each  a  story  of  an  external  semi-tower  hav- 
ing true  aperture  windows  on  each  side  of  it. 

§  xii.  2.  Inlet  windows.  These  windows  may,  of  course,  be 
of  any  shape  and  size  whatever,  according  to  the  other  neces- 
sities of  the  building,  and  the  quantity  and  direction  of  light 
desired,  their  purpose  being  now  to  throw  it  in  streams  on 
particular  lines  or  spots  ;  now  to  diffuse  it  everywhere  ;  some- 
times to  introduce  it  in  broad  masses,  tempered  in  strength,  as 
in  the  cathedral  colored  window  ;  sometimes  in  starry  showers 
of  scattered  brilliancy,  like  the  apertures  in  the  roof  of  an 
Arabian  bath  ;  perhaps  the  most  beautiful  of  all  forms  being 
the  rose,  which  has  in  it  the  unity  of  both  characters  and 
sympathy  with  that  of  the  source  of  light  itself.  It  is  notice- 
able, however,  that  while  both  the  circle  and  pointed  oval  are 
beautiful  window  forms,  it  would  be  very  pain- 
ful to  cut  either  of  them  in  half  and  connect 
them  by  vertical  lines,  as  in  Fig.  XLIV.  The 
reason  is,  I  believe,  that  so  treated,  the  upper 
arch  is  not  considered  as  connected  with  the  FlG  XLIV# 
lower,  and  forming  an  entire  figure,  but  as  the 
ordinary  arch  roof  of  the  aperture,  and  the  lower  arch  as  an 
arch  floor,  equally  unnecessary  and  unnatural.  Also,  the  ellip- 
tical oval  is  generally  an  unsatisfactory  form,  because  it  gives 
the  idea  of  useless  trouble  in  building  it,  though  it  occurs 
quaintly  and  pleasantly  in  the  former  windows  of  France  :  I 
believe  it  is  also  objectionable  because  it  has  an  indeterminate, 
slippery  look,  like  that  of  a  bubble  rising  through  a  fluid.  It, 
and  all  elongated  forms,  are  still  more  objectionable  placed 
horizontally,  because  this  is  the  weakest  position  they  can 
structurally  have ;  that  is  to  say,  less  light  is  admitted,  with 
greater  loss  of  strength  to  the  building,  than  by  any  other 


184 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


form.  If  admissible  anywhere,  it  is  for  the  sake  of  variety  at 
the  top  of  the  building,  as  the  flat  parallelogram  sometimes 
not  ungracefully  in  Italian  Kenaissance. 

§  xiii.  The  question  of  bevelling  becomes  a  little  more 
complicated  in  the  inlet  than  the  outlook  window,  because 
the  mass  or  quantity  of  light  admitted  is  often  of  more  conse 
quence  than  its  direction,  and  often  vice  versa  ;  and  the  out  - 
look window  is  supposed  to  be  approachable,  which  is  far 
from  being  always  the  case  with  windows  for  light,  so  that 
the  bevelling  which  in  the  outlook  window  is  chiefly  to  open 
range  of  sight,  is  in  the  inlet  a  means  not  only  of  admitting 
the  light  in  greater  quantity,  but  of  directing  it  to  the  spot 
on  which  it  is  to  fall.  But,  in  general,  the  bevelling  of  the 
one  window  will  reverse  that  of  the  other ;  for,  first,  no  nat- 
ural light  will  strike  on  the  inlet  window  from  beneath,  un- 
less reflected  light,  which  is  (I  believe)  injurious  to  the  health 
and  the  sight ;  and  thus,  while  in  the  outlook  window  the 
outside  bevel  downwards  is  essential,  in  the  inlet  it  would  be 
useless  :  and  the  sill  is  to  be  flat,  if  the  window  be  on  a  level 
with  the  spot  it  is  to  light  ;  and  sloped  downwards  within, 
if  above  it.  Again,  as  the  brightest  rays  of  light  are  the 
steepest,  the  outside  bevel  upwards  is  as  essential  in  the  roof 
of  the  inlet  as  it  was  of  small  importance  in  that  of  the  out- 
look window. 

§  xiv.  On  the  horizontal  section  the  aperture  will  expand 
internally,  a  somewhat  larger  number  of  rays  being  thus  re- 
flected from  the  jambs  ;  and  the  aperture  being  thus  the 
smallest  possible  outside,  this  is  the  favorite  military  form  of 
inlet  window,  always  found  in  magnificent  development  in 
the  thick  walls  of  mediaeval  castles  and  convents.  Its  effect  is 
tranquil,  but  cheerless  and  dungeon-like  in  its  fullest  develop- 
ment,  owing  to  the  limitation  of  the  range  of  sight  in  the  out- 
look, which,  if  the  window  be  unapproachable,  reduces  it  to 
a  mere  point  of  light.  A  modified  condition  of  it,  with  some 
combination  of  the  outlook  form,  is  probably  the  best  for  do- 
mestic buildings  in  general  (which,  however,  in  modern  archi- 
tecture, are  unhappily  so  thin  Availed,  that  the  outline  of  the 
jambs  becomes  a  matter  alpaost  of  indifference),  it  being  gen> 


FILLING  OF  APERTURE. 


185 


erally  noticeable  that  the  depth  of  recess  which  I  have  ob- 
served to  be  essential  to  nobility  of  external  effect  has  also  a 
certain  dignity  of  expression,  as  appearing  to  be  intended 
rather  to  admit  light  to  persons  quietly  occupied  in  their 
homes,  than  to  stimulate  or  favor  the  curiosity  of  idleness. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

FILLING  OF  APERTURE. 

§  i.  Thus  far  we  have  been  concerned  with  the  outline  only 
of  the  aperture  :  we  were  next,  it  will  be  remembered,  to 
consider  the  necessary  modes  of  filling  it  with  valves  in  the 
case  of  the  door,  or  with  glass  or  tracery  in  that  of  the 
window. 

1.  Fillings  of  doors.  We  concluded,  in  the  previous  Chap- 
ter, that  doors  in  buildings  of  any  importance  or  size  should 
have  headings  in  the  form  of  an  arch.  This  is,  however,  the 
most  inconvenient  form  we  could  choose,  as  respects  the  fitting 
of  the  valves  of  the  doorway  ;  for  the  arch-shaped  head  of  the 
valves  not  only  requires  considerable  nicety  in  fitting  to  the 
arch,  but  adds  largely  to  the  weight  of  the  door, — a  double 
disadvantage,  straining  the  hinges  and  making  it  cumbersome 
in  opening.  And  this  inconvenience  is  so  much  perceived  by 
the  eye,  that  a  door  valve  with  a  pointed  head  is  always  a  dis- 
agreeable object.  It  becomes,  therefore,  a  matter  of  true 
necessity  so  to  arrange  the  doorway  as  to  admit  of  its  being 
fitted  with  rectangular  valves. 

$  ii.  Now,  in  determining  the  form  of  the  aperture,  we 
supposed  the  jamb  of  the  door  to  be  of  the  utmost  height  re- 
quired for  entrance.  The  extra  height  of  the  arch  is  unneces- 
sary as  an  opening,  the  arch  being  required  for  its  strength 
only,  not  for  its  elevation.  There  is,  therefore,  no  reason  why 
it  should  not  be  barred  across  by  a  horizontal  lintel,  into  which 
the  valves  may  be  fitted,  and  the  triangular  or  semicircular 
arched  space  above  the  lintel  may  then  be  permanently  closed, 
as  we  choose,  either  with  bars,  or  glass,  or  stone. 


186 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


This  is  the  form  of  all  good  doors,  without  exception,  o\ei 
the  whole  world  and  in  all  ages,  and  no  other  can  ever  be  in- 
vented. 

§  in.  In  the  simplest  doors  the  cross  lintel  is  of  wood  only, 
and  glass  or  bars  occupy  the  space  above,  a  very  frequent  form 
in  Venice.  In  more  elaborate  doors  the  cross  lintel  is  of 
stone,  and  the  filling  sometimes  of  brick,  sometimes  of  stone, 
very  often  a  grand  single  stone  being  used  to  close  the  entire 
space  :  the  space  thus  filled  is  called  the  Tympanum.  In 
large  doors  the  cross  lintel  is  too  long  to  bear  the  great  incum- 
bent weight  of  this  stone  filling  without  support  ;  it  is,  there- 
fore, carried  by  a  pier  in  the  centre  ;  and  two  valves  are  used, 
fitted  to  the  rectangular  spaces  on  each  side  of  the  pier.  In 
the  most  elaborate  examples  of  this  condition,  each  of  these 
secondary  doorways  has  an  arch  heading,  a  cross  lintel,  and  a 
triangular  filling  or  tympanum  of  its  own,  all  subordinated  to 
the  main  arch  above. 

§  iv.  2.  Fillings  of  windows. 

"When  windows  are  large,  and  to  be  filled  with  glass,  the 
sheet  of  glass,  however  constructed,  whether  of  large  panes  or 
small  fragments,  requires  the  support  of  bars  of  some  kind, 
either  of  wood,  metal,  or  stone.  Wood  is  inapplicable  on  a 
large  scale,  owing  to  its  destructibility  ;  very  fit  for  door- 
valves,  which  can  be  easily  refitted,  and  in  which  weight 
would  be  an  inconvenience,  but  very  unfit  for  window-bars, 
which,  if  they  decayed,  might  let  the  whole  window  be  blown 
in  before  their  decay  was  observed,  and  in  which  weight 
would  be  an  advantage,  as  offering  more  resistance  to  the 
wind. 

Iron  is,  however,  fit  for  window-bars,  and  there  seems  no 
constructive  reason  why  we  should  not  have  iron  traceries,  as 
well  as  iron  pillars,  iron  churches,  and  iron  steeples.  But  I 
have,  in  the  ''Seven  Lamps,"  given  reasons  for  not  consider- 
ing such  structures  as  architecture  at  all. 

The  window-bars  must,  therefore,  be  of  stone,  and  of  stone 
only. 

§  v.  The  purpose  of  the  window  being  always  to  let  in  as 
much  light,  and  command  as  much  view,  as  possible,  these 


FILLING  OF  APERTURE, 


187 


bars  of  stone  are  to  be  made  as  slender  and  as  few  as  they  can 
be,  consistently  with  their  due  strength. 

Let  it  be  required  to  support  the  breadth  of  glass,  a,  b,  Fig. 
XLV.    The  tendency  of  the  glass  sustaining  any  force,  as  oi 
wind  from  without,  is  to  bend 
into  an  arch  inwards,  in  the  & 
dotted  line,  and  break  in  the 
centre.    It  is  to  be  supported, 
therefore,  by  the  bar  put  in  its  d  Mr 

centre,  c. 

But  this  central  bar,  c,  may 
not  be  enough,  and  the  spaces 
a  c,  cb,  may  still  need  support. 
The  next  step  will  be  to  put 
two  bars  instead  of  one,  and 
divide  the  window  into  three . 
spaces  as  at  d. 

But  this  may  still  not  be"*  FiG.'xLvy 
enough,  and  the  window  may 

need  three  bars.  Now  the  greatest  stress  is  always  on  the  centre 
of  the  window.  If  the  three  bars  are  equal  in  strength,  as  at 
e,  the  central  bar  is  either  too  slight  for  its  work,  or  the  lat- 
eral bars  too  thick  for  theirs.  Therefore,  we  must  slightly 
increase  the  thickness  of  the  central  bar,  and  diminish  that  of 
the  lateral  ones,  so  as  to  obtain  the  arrangement  at  f  h.  If 
the  window  enlarge  farther,  each  of  the  spaces  f  g,  g  h,  is 
treated  as  the  original  space  a  b,  and  we  have  the  groups  of 
bars  k  and  /. 

So  that,  whatever  the  shape  of  the  window,  whatever  the 
direction  and  number  of  the  bars,  there  are  to  be  central  or 
main  bars ;  second  bars  subordinated  to  them ;  third  bars 
subordinated  to  the  second,  and  so  on  to  the  number  required. 
This  is  called  the  subordination  of  tracery,  a  system  delight- 
ful to  the  eye  and  mind,  owing  to  its  anatomical  framing  and 
unity,  and  to  its  expression  of  the  laws  of  good  government 
in  all  fragile  and  unstable  things.  All  tracery,  therefore, 
which  is  not  subordinated,  is  barbarous,  in  so  far  as  this  part 
of  its  structure  is  concerned. 


188 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


§  vi.  The  next  question  will  be  the  direction  of  the  bars. 
The  reader  will  understand  at  once,  without  any  laborious 
proof,  that  a  given  area  of  glass,  supported  by  its  edges,  is 
stronger  in  its  resistance  to  violence  when  it  is  arranged  in  a 
long  strip  or  band  than  in  a  square  ;  and  that,  therefore,  glass 
is  generally  to  be  arranged,  especially  in  windows  on  a  large 
scale,  in  oblong  areas  :  and  if  the  bars  so  dividing  it  be  placed 
horizontally,  they  will  have  less  power  of  supporting  them- 
selves,  and  will  need  to  be  thicker  in  consequence,  than  if 
placed  vertically.  As  far,  therefore,  as  the  form  of  the  win- 
dow permits,  they  are  to  be  vertical. 

§  vii.  But  even  when  so  placed,  they  cannot  be  trusted  to 
support  themselves  beyond  a  certain  height,  but  will  need 
cross  bars  to  steady  them.  Cross  bars  of  stone  are,  therefore, 
to  be  introduced  at  necessary  intervals,  not  to  divide  the 
glass,  but  to  support  the  upright  stone  bars.  The  glass  is 
always  to  be  divided  longitudinally  as  far  as  possible,  and  the 
upright  bars  which  divide  it  supported  at  proper  intervals. 
However  high  the  window,  it  is  almost  impossible  that  it 
should  require  more  than  two  cross  bars. 

§  vin.  It  may  sometimes  happen  that  when  tall  windows 
are  placed  very  close  to  each  other  for  the  sake  of  more  light, 
the  masonry  between  them  may  stand  in  need,  or  at  least  be 
the  better  of,  some  additional  support.  The  cross  bars  of  the 
Avindows  may  then  be  thickened,  in  order  to  bond  the  inter- 
mediate piers  more  strongly  together,  and  if  this  thickness 
appear  ungainly,  it  may  be  modified  by  decoration. 

§  ix.  We  have  thus  arrived  at  the  idea  of  a  vertical  frame 
work  of  subordinated  bars,  supported  by  cross  bars  at  the 
necessary  intervals,  and  the  only  remaining  question  is  the 
method  of  insertion  into  the  aperture.  Whatever  its  form,  if 
we  merely  let  the  ends  of  the  bars  into  the  voussoirs  of  its 
heading,  the  least  settlement  of  the  masonry  would  distort  the 
arch,  or  push  up  some  of  its  voussoirs,  or  break  the  window 
bars,  or  push  them  aside.  Evidently  our  object  should  be  to 
connect  the  window  bars  among  themselves,  so  framing  them 
together  that  they  may  give  the  utmost  possible  degree  of 
support  to  the  whole  window  head  in  case  of  any  settlement. 


FILLING  OF  APERTURE. 


189 


But  we  know  how  to  do  this  already :  our  window  bars  are 
nothing  but  small  shafts.  Capital  them  ;  throw  small  arches 
across  between  the  smaller  bars,  large  arches  over  them  be- 
tween the  larger  bars,  one  comprehensive  arch  over  the  whole, 
or  else  a  horizontal  lintel,  if  the  window  have  a  flat  head ;  and 
we  have  a  complete  system  of  mutual  support,  independent  of 
the  aperture  head,  and  yet  assisting  to  sustain  it,  if  need  be. 
But  we  want  the  spandrils  of  this  arch  system  to  be  them- 
selves as  light,  and  to  let  as  much  light  through  them,  as  pos- 
sible :  and  we  know  already  how  to  pierce  them  (Chap.  XII. 
§  vil).  We  pierce  them  with  circles;  and  we  have,  if  the 
circles  are  small  and  the  stonework  strong,  the  traceries  of 
Giotto  and  the  Pisan  school ;  if  the  circles  are  as  large  as  pos- 
sible and  the  bars  slender,  those  which  I  have  already  figured 
and  described  as  the  only  perfect  traceries  of  the  Northern 
Gothic*  The  varieties  of  their  design  arise  partly  from  the 
different  size  of  window  and  consequent  number  of  bars  ; 
partly  from  the  different  heights  of  their  pointed  arches,  as 
well  as  the  various  positions  of  the  window  head  in  relation 
to  the  roof,  rendering  one  or  another  arrangement  better 
for  dividing  the  light,  and  partly  from  aesthetic  and  expres- 
sional  requirements,  which,  within  certain  limits,  may  be  al- 
lowed a  very  important  influence :  for  the  strength  of  the  bars 
is  ordinarily  so  much  greater  than  is  absolutely  necessary, 
that  some  portion  of  it  may  be  gracefully  sacrificed  to  the 
attainment  of  variety  in  the  plans  of  tracery — a  variety  which, 
even  within  its  severest  limits,  is  perfectly  endless ;  more  es- 
pecially in  the  pointed  arch,  the  proportion  of  the  tracery 
being  in  the  round  arch  necessarily  more  fixed. 

§  x.  The  circular  window  furnishes  an  exception  to  the 
common  law,  that  the  bars  shall  be  vertical  through  the 
greater  part  of  their  length  :  for  if  they  were  so,  they  could 
neither  have  secure  perpendicular  footing,  nor  secure  heading, 
their  thrust  being  perpendicular  to  the  curve  of  the  voussoirs 
only  in  the  centre  of  the  window ;  therefore,  a  small  circle, 
like  the  axle  of  a  wheel,  is  put  into  the  centre  of  the  window, 
large  enough  to  give  footing  to  the  necessary  number  of  radi- 
*  u  Seven  Lamps. "  p.  60, 


190 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


ating  bars  ;  and  the  bars  are  arranged  as  spokes,  being  all  o1 
course  properly  capitaled  and  arch-headed.  This  is  the  best 
form  of  tracery  for  circular  windows,  naturally  enough  called 
wheel  windows  when  so  filled. 

§  xi.  Now,  I  wish  the  reader  especially  to  observe  that  we 
have  arrived  at  these  forms  of  perfect  Gothic  tracery  without 
the  smallest  reference  to  any  practice  of  any  school,  or  to 
any  law  of  authority  whatever.  They  are  forms  having  essen- 
tially nothing  whatever  to  do  either  with  Goths  or  Greeks. 
They  are  eternal  forms,  based  on  laws  of  gravity  and  cohe- 
sion ;  and  no  better,  nor  any  others  so  good,  will  ever  be  in- 
vented, so  long  as  the  present  laws  of  gravity  and  cohesion 
subsist. 

§  xii.  It  does  not  at  all  follow  that  this  group  of  forms 
owes  its  origin  to  any  such  course  of  reasoning  as  that  which 
has  now  led  us  to  it.  On  the  contrary,  there  is  not  the  small- 
est doubt  that  tracery  began,  partly,  in  the  grouping  of  win- 
dows together  (subsequently  enclosed  within  a  large  arch*),  and 
partly  in  the  fantastic  penetrations  of  a  single  slab  of  stones 
under  the  arch,  as  the  circle  in  Plate  V.  above.  The  perfect 
form  seems  to  have  been  accidentally  struck  in  passing  from 
experiment  on  the  one  side,  to  affectation  on  the  other  ;  and 
it  was  so  far  from  ever  becoming  systematised,  that  I  am 
aware  of  no  type  of  tracery  for  which  a  less  decided  preference 
is  shown  in  the  buildings  in  which  it  exists.  The  early  pierced 
traceries  are  multitudinous  and  perfect  in  their  kind, — the  late 
Flamboyant,  luxuriant  in  detail,  and  lavish  in  quantity, — but 
the  perfect  forms  exist  in  comparatively  few  churches,  gener- 
ally in  portions  of  the  church  only,  and  are  always  connected, 
and  that  closely,  either  with  the  massy  forms  out  of  which 
they  have  emerged,  or  with  the  enervated  types  into  which 
they  are  instantly  to  degenerate. 

§  xiii.  Nor  indeed  are  we  to  look  upon  them  as  in  all  points 

*  On  the  north  side  of  the  nave  of  the  cathedral  of  Lyons,  there  is  an 
early  French  window,  presenting  one  of  the  usual  groups  of  foliated 
arches  and  circles,  left,  as  it  were,  loose,  without  any  enclosing  curve 
The  effect  is  very  painful.  This  remarkable  window  is  associated  witli 
others  of  the  ooinmon  form. 


FILLING  OF  APERTURE. 


191 


superior  to  the  more  ancient  examples.  We  have  above  con- 
ducted our  reasoning  entirely  on  the  supposition  that  a  single 
aperture  is  given,  which  it  is  the  object  to  fill  with  glass,  di- 
minishing the  power  of  the  light  as  little  as  possible.  But 
there  are  many  cases,  as  in  triforium  and  cloister  lights,  in 
which  glazing  is  not  required  ;  in  which,  therefore,  the  bars, 
if  there  be  any,  must  have  some  more  important  function 
than  that  of  merely  holding  glass,  and  in  which  their  actual 
use  is  to  give  steadiness  and  tone,  as  it  were,  to  the  arches 
and  walls  above  and  beside  them  ;  or  to  give  the  idea  of  pro- 
tection to  those  who  pass  along  the  triforium,  and  of  seclu- 
sion to  those  who  walk  in  the  cloister.  Much  thicker  shafts, 
and  more  massy  arches,  may  be  properly  employed  in  work 
of  this  kind  ;  and  many  groups  of  such  tracery  will  be  found 
resolvable  into  true  colonnades,  with  the  arches  in  pairs,  or  in 
triple  or  quadruple  groups,  and  with  small  rosettes  pierced 
above  them  for  light.  All  this  is  just  as  right  in  its  place,  as 
the  glass  tracery  is  in  its  own  function,  and  often  much  more 
grand.  But  the  same  indulgence  is  not  to  be  shown  to  the 
affectations  which  succeeded  the  developed  forms.  Of  these 
there  are  three  principal  conditions :  the  Flamboyant  of 
Prance,  the  Stump  tracery  of  Germany,  and  the  Perpendicu- 
lar of  England. 

§  xiv.  Of  these  the  first  arose,  by  the  most  delicate  and 
natural  transitions,  out  of  the  perfect  school.  It  was  an  en- 
deavor to  introduce  more  grace  into  its  lines,  and  more 
change  into  its  combinations  ;  and  the  aesthetic  results  are  so 
beautiful,  that  for  some  time  after  the  right  road  had  been 
left,  the  aberration  was  more  to  be  admired  than  regretted. 
The  final  conditions  became  fantastic  and  effeminate,  but,  in 
the  country  where  they  had  been  invented,  never  lost  their 
peculiar  grace  until  they  were  replaced  by  the  Renaissance. 
The  copies  of  the  school  in  England  and  Italy  have  all  its 
faults  and  none  of  its  beauties  ;  in  France,  whatever  it  lost  in 
method  or  in  majesty,  it  gained  in  fantasy :  literally  Flam- 
boyant, it  breathed  away  its  strength  into  the  air  ;  but  there  is 
not  more  difference  between  the  commonest  doggrel  that  ever 
broke  prose  into  unintelligibility,  and  the  burning  mystery 


192 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


of  Coleridge,  or  spirituality  of  Elizabeth  Barrett,  than  there  is 
between  the  dissolute  dulness  of  English  Flamboyant,  and 
the  flaming  undulations  of  the  wreathed  lines  of  delicate 
stone,  that  confuse  themselves  with  the  clouds  of  every  morn- 
ing sky  that  brightens  above  the  valley  of  the  Seine. 

§  xv.  The  second  group  of  traceries,  the  intersectional  or 
German  group,  may  be  considered  as  including  the  entire 
range  of  the  absurd  forms  which  were  invented  in  order  to 
display  dexterity  in  stone-cutting  and  ingenuity  in  construc- 
tion. They  express  the  peculiar  character  of  the  German 
mind,  which  cuts  the  frame  of  every  truth  joint  from  joint,  in 
order  to  prove  the  edge  of  its  instruments  ;  and,  in  all  cases, 
prefers  a  new  or  a  strange  thought  to  a  good  one,  and  a 
subtle  thought  to  a  useful  one.  The  point  and  value  of  the 
German  tracery  consists  principally  in  turning  the  features 
of  good  traceries  upside  down,  and  cutting  them  in  two 
where  they  are  properly  continuous.  To  destroy  at  once 
foundation  and  membership,  and  suspend  everything  in  the 
air,  keeping  out  of  sight,  as  far  as  possible,  the  evidences  of  a 
beginning  and  the  probabilities  of  an  end,  are  the  main  ob- 
jects of  German  architecture,  as  of  modern  German  divinity. 

§  xvi.  This  school  has,  however,  at  least  the  merit  of  in- 
genuity. Not  so  the  English  Perpendicular,  though  a  very 
curious  school  also  in  its  way.  In  the  course  of  the  rea- 
soning which  led  us  to  the  determination  of  the  perfect 
Gothic  tracery,  we  were  induced  successively  to  reject  certain 
methods  of  arrangement  as  weak,  dangerous,  or  disagreeable. 
Collect  all  these  together,  and  practise  them  at  once,  and  you 
have  the  English  Perpendicular. 

As  thus.  You  find  in  the  first  place  (§  v.),  that  your  tracery 
bars  are  to  be  subordinated,  less  to  greater ;  so  you  take  a 
group  of,  suppose,  eight,  which  you  make  all  exactly  equal, 
giving  you  nine  equal  spaces  in  the  window,  as  at  A,  Fig. 
XLVI.  You  found,  in  the  second  place  (§  vil),  that  there 
was  no  occasion  for  more  than  two  cross  bars  ;  so  you  take  at 
least  four  or  five  (also  represented  at  A,  Fig.  XLVI.),  also 
carefully  equalised,  and  set  at  equal  spaces.  You  found,  in 
the  third  place  (§  viii.),  that  these  bars  were  to  be  strength* 


FILLING  OF  APERTURE. 


193 


ened,  in  order  to  support  the  main  piers  ;  you  will  therefore 
cut  the  ends  off  the  uppermost,  and  the  fourth  into  three 
pieces  (as  also  at  A).  In  the  fourth  place,  you  found  (§  ix.) 
that  you  were  never  to  run  a  vertical  bar  into  the  arch  head ; 
so  you  run  them  all  into  it  (as  at  B,  Fig.  XL VI.) :  and  this 
last  arrangement  will  be  useful  in  two  ways,  for  it  will  not 
only  expose  both  the  bars  and  the  archivolt  to  an  apparent 
probability  of  every  species  of  dislocation  at  any  moment,  but 
it  will  provide  you  with  two  pleasing  interstices  at  the  Hanks, 
in  the  shape  of  carving-knives,  a,  b,  which,  by  throwing  across 


m 


Fig.  XLVI. 

the  curves  c,  d,  you  may  easily  multiply  into  four  ;  and  these, 
as  you  can  put  nothing  into  their  sharp  tops,  will  afford  you  a 
more  than  usually  rational  excuse  for  a  little  bit  of  German- 
ism, in  filling  them  with  arches  upside  down,  e,  f.  You  will 
now  have  left  at  your  disposal  two  and  forty  similar  inter- 
stices, which,  for  the  sake  of  variety,  you  will  proceed  to  fill 
with  two  and  forty  similar  arches  :  and,  as  you  were  told  that 
the  moment  a  bar  received  an  arch  heading,  it  was  to  be 
treated  as  a  shaft  and  capitalled,  you  will  take  care  to  give 
your  bars  no  capitals  nor  bases,  but  to  run  bars,  foliations 
and  all,  well  into  each  other  after  the  fashion  of  cast-iron,  as 
Vol.  L— 13 


194 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


at  C.  You  have  still  two  triangular  spaces  occurring  in  an 
important  part  of  your  window,  g,  g,  which,  as  they  are  very 
conspicuous,  and  you  cannot  make  them  uglier  than  they  are, 
you  will  do  wisely  to  let  alone  ; — and  you  will  now  have  the 
west  window  of  the  cathedral  of  Winchester,  a  very  perfect 
example  of  English  Perpendicular.  Nor  do  I  think  that  you 
can,  on  the  whole,  better  the  arrangement,  unless,  perhaps, 
by  adding  buttresses  to  some  of  the  bars,  as  is  done  in  the 
cathedral  at  Gloucester ;  these  buttresses  having  the  double 
advantage  of  darkening  the  window  when  seen  from  within, 
and  suggesting,  when  it  is  seen  from  without,  the  idea  of  its 
being  divided  by  two  stout  party  walls,  with  a  heavy  thrust 
against  the  glass. 

§  xvii.  Thus  far  we  have  considered  the  plan  of  the  tracery 
only  :  we  have  lastly  to  note  the  conditions  under  which  the 
glass  is  to  be  attached  to  the  bars  ;  and  the  sections  of  the 
bars  themselves. 

These  bars  we  have  seen,  in  the  perfect  form,  are  to  become 
shafts ;  but,  supposing  the  object  to  be  the  admission  of  as> 
much  light  as  possible,  it  is  clear  that  the  thickness  of  the  bar 
ought  to  be  chiefly  in  the  depth  of  the  window,  and  that  by 
increasing  the  depth  of  the  bar  we  may  diminish  its  breadth  : 
clearly,  therefore,  we  should  employ  the  double  group  of 
shafts,  b,  of  Fig.  XIV.,  setting  it  edgeways  in  the  window  : 
but  as  the  glass  would  then  come  between  the  two  shafts,  we 
must  add  a  member  into  which  it  is  to  be  fit- 
ted, as  at  a,  Fig.  XL VII.,  and  uniting  these 
three  members  together  in  the  simplest  way, 
with  a  curved  instead  of  a  sharp  recess  behind 
the  shafts,  we  have  the  section  b,  the  perfect, 
but  simplest  type  of  the  main  tracery  bars  in 
good  Gothic.  In  triforium  and  cloister  tracery,  which  has  no 
glass  to  hold,  the  central  member  is  omitted,  and  we  have 
either  the  pure  double  shaft,  always  the  most  graceful,  or  a 
single  and  more  massy  shaft,  which  is  the  simpler  and  more 
usual  form. 

§  xviii.  Finally  :  there  is  an  intermediate  arrangement  be 
tween  the  glazed  and  the  open  tracery,  that  of  the  domestic 


FILLING  OF  APERTURE. 


195 


traceries  of  Venice.  Peculiar  conditions,  hereafter  to  be  de- 
scribed, require  the  shafts  of  these  traceries  to  become  the 
main  vertical  supports  of  the  floors  and  walls.  Their  thick- 
ness is  therefore  enormous  ;  and  yet  free  egress  is  required 
between  them  (into  balconies)  which  is  obtained  by  doors  in 
their  lattice  glazing.  To  prevent  the  inconvenience  and  ugli- 
ness of  driving  the  hinges  and  fastenings  of  them  into  the 
shafts,  and  having  the  play  of  the  doors  in  the  intervals,  the 
entire  glazing  is  thrown  behind  the  pillars,  and  attached 
to  their  abaci  and  bases  with  iron.  It  is  thus  securely  sus- 
tained by  their  massy  bulk,  and  leaves  their  symmetry  and 
shade  undisturbed. 

§  xrx.  The  depth  at  which  the  glass  should  be  placed,  in 
windows  without  traceries,  will  generally  be  fixed  by  the 
forms  of  their  bevelling,  the  glass  occupying  the  narrowest 
interval ;  but  when  its  position  is  not  thus  fixed,  as  in  many 
London  houses,  it  is  to  be  remembered  that  the  deeper  the 
glass  is  set  (the  wall  being  of  given  thickness),  the  more  light 
will  enter,  and  the  clearer  the  prospect  will  be  to  a  person 
sitting  quietly  in  the  centre  of  the  room  ;  on  the  contrary, 
the  farther  out  the  glass  is  set,  the  more  convenient  the  win- 
dow will  be  for  a  person  rising  and  looking  out  of  it.  The 
one,  therefore,  is  an  arrangement  for  the  idle  and  curious, 
who  care  only  about  what  is  going  on  upon  the  earth :  the 
other  for  those  who  are  willing  to  remain  at  rest,  so  that  they 
have  free  admission  of  the  light  of  Heaven.  This  might  be 
noted  as  a  curious  expressional  reason  for  the  necessity  (of 
which  no  man  of  ordinary  feeling  would  doubt  for  a  moment) 
of  a  deep  recess  in  the  window,  on  the  outside,  to  all  good  or 
architectural  effect  :  still,  as  there  is  no  reason  why  people 
should  be  made  idle  by  having  it  in  their  power  to  look  out 
of  window,  and  as  the  slight  increase  of  light  or  clearness  of 
view  in  the  centre  of  a  room  is  more  than  balanced  by  the 
loss  of  space,  and  the  greater  chill  of  the  nearer  glass  and 
outside  air,  we  can,  I  fear,  allege  no  other  structural  reason 
for  the  picturesque  external  recess,  than  the  expediency  of  a 
certain  degree  of  protection,  for  the  glass,  from  the  brightest 
glare  of  sunshine,  and  heaviest  rush  of  rain. 


196 


TEE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


CHAPTER  XVm. 

PKOTECTION  OF  APERTURE. 

§  i.  We  have  hitherto  considered  the  aperture  as  merely 
pierced  in  the  thickness  of  the  walls  ;  and  when  its  masonry 
is  simple  and  the  fillings  of  the  aperture  are  unimportant,  it 
may  well  remain  so.  But  when  the  fillings  are  delicate  and 
of  value,  as  in  the  case  of  colored  glass,  finely  wrought 
tracery,  or  sculpture,  such  as  we  shall  often  find  occupying 
the  tympanum  of  doorways,  some  protection  becomes  neces- 
sary against  the  run  of  the  rain  down  the  walls,  and  back  by 
the  bevel  of  the  aperture  to  the  joints  or  surface  of  the  fill- 
ings. 

§  ii.  The  first  and  simplest  mode  of  obtaining  this  is  by 
channelling  the  jambs  and  arch  head ;  and  this  is  the  chief 
practical  service  of  aperture  mouldings,  which  are  otherwise 
entirely  decorative.  But  as  this  very  decorative  character 
renders  them  unfit  to  be  made  channels  for  rain,  water,  it  is 
well  to  add  some  external  roofing  to  the  aperture,  which  may 
protect  it  from  the  run  of  all  the  rain,  except  that  which 
necessarily  beats  into  its  own  area.  This  protection,  in  its 
most  usual  form,  is  a  mere  dripstone  moulding  carried  over 
or  round  the  head  of  the  aperture.  But  this  is,  in  reality, 
only  a  contracted  form  of  a  true  roof,  projecting  from  the  wall 
over  the  aperture ;  and  all  protections  of  apertures  whatso- 
ever are  to  be  conceived  as  portions  of  small  roofs,  attached 
to  the  wall  behind  ;  and  supported  by  it,  so  long  as  their  scale 
admits  of  their  being  so  with  safety,  and  afterwards  in  such 
manner  as  may  be  most  expedient.  The  proper  forms  of 
these,  and  modes  of  their  support,  are  to  be  the  subject  of 
our  final  enquiry. 

§  in.  Respecting  their  proper  form  we  need  not  stay  long 
in  doubt.  A  deep  gable  is  evidently  the  best  for  throwing  off 
rain  ;  even  a  low  gable  being  better  than  a  high  arch.  Flat 
roofs,  therefore,  may  only  be  used  when  the  nature  of  the 
building  renders  the  gable  unsightly  ;  as  when  there  is  not 
room  for  it  between  the  stories ;  or  when  the  object  is  rather 


PROTECTION  OF  APERTURE. 


197 


shade  than  protection  from  rain,  as  often  in  verandahs  and 
balconies.  But  for  general  service  the  gable 
is  the  proper  and  natural  form,  and  may  be 
taken  as  representative  of  the  rest.  Then 
this  gable  may  either  project  unsupported 
from  the  wall,  a,  Fig.  XL VIII.,  or  be  carried 
by  brackets  or  spurs,  b,  or  by  walls  or  shafts, 
c,  which  shafts  or  walls  may  themse]ves  be, 
in  windows,  carried  on  a  sill ;  and  this,  in  its 
turn,  supported  by  brackets  or  spurs.  We 
shall  glance  at  the  applications  of  each  of 
these  forms  in  order. 

§  iv.  There  is  not  much  variety  in  the 
case  of  the  first,  a,  Fig.  XL VIII.  In  the 
Cumberland  and  border  cottages  the  door 
is  generally  protected  by  two  pieces  of  slate 
arranged  in  a  gable,  giving  the  purest  pos- 
sible type  of  the  first  form.  In  elaborate 
architecture  such  a  projection  hardly  ever 
occurs,  and  in  large  architecture  cannot  with 
safety  occur,  without  brackets  ;  but  by  cut- 
ting away  the  greater  part  of  the  projection, 

we  shall  arrive  at  the  idea  of  a 
plain  gabled  cornice,  of  which  a 
perfect  example  will  be  found 
in  Plate  VII.  of  the  folio  series. 
With  this  first  complete  form 
we  may  associate  the  rude, 
single,  projecting,  pent-house 
roof ;  imperfect,  because  either 
it  must  be  level  and  the  water 
lodge  lazily  upon  it,  or  throw 
off  the  drip  upon  the  persons 
entering. 

§  v.  2.  b,  Fig.  XLVHI.  This 
is  a  most  beautiful  and  natural 
type,  and  is  found  in  all  good  architecture,  from  the  highest 
to  the  most  humble  :  it  is  a  frequent  form  of  cottage  door, 


Fig.  XLVIII. 


Fig.  XLIX. 


198 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


more  especially  when  carried  on  spurs,  being  of  peculiarly 
«asy  construction  in  wood  :  as  applied  to  large  architecture, 
1c  can  evidently  be  built,  in  its  boldest  and  simplest  form, 
either  of  wood  only,  or  on  a  scale  which  will  admit  of  its 
sides  being  each  a  single  slab  of  stone.  If  so  large  as  to  re- 
quire jointed  masonry,  the  gabled  sides  will  evidently  require 
support,  and  an  arch  must  be  thrown  across  under  them,  as 
in  Fig.  XLIX.,  from  Fiesole. 

If  we  cut  the  projection  gradually  down,  we  arrive  at  the 
common  Gothic  gable  dripstone  carried  on  small  brackets, 
carved  into  bosses,  heads,  or  some  other  ornamental  form  ; 
the  sub-arch  in  such  case  being  useless,  is  removed  or  coin- 
cides with  the  arch  head  of  the  aperture. 

§  vi.  3.  c,  Fig.  XL VIII.  Substituting  walls  or  pillars  for 
the  brackets,  we  may  carry  the  projection  as  far  out  as  we 
choose,  and  form  the  perfect  porch,  either  of  the  cottage  or 
village  church,  or  of  the  cathedral.  As  we  enlarge  the  struct- 
ure, however,  certain  modifications  of  form  become  neces- 
sary, owing  to  the  increased  boldness  of  the  required  sup- 


a  I  o 


porting  arch.  For,  as  the  lower  end  of  the  gabled  roof  and 
of  the  arch  cannot  coincide,  we  have  necessarily  above  uie 
shafts  one  of  the  two  forms  a  or  6,  in  Fig.  L.,  of  which  the 
latter  is  clearly  the  best,  requiring  less  masonry  and  shorter 
roofing ;  and  when  the  arch  becomes  so  large  as  to  cause  a 
heavy  lateral  thrust,  it  may  become  necessary  to  provide  for 
its  farther  safety  by  pinnacles,  c. 

This  last  is  the  perfect  type  of  aperture  protection.  None 
other  can  ever  be  invented  so  good.    It  is  that  once  employed 


Fig.  L. 


PROTECTION  OF  APERTURE. 


199 


by  Giotto  in  the  cathedral  of  Florence,  and  torn  down  by 
the  proveditore,  Benedetto  Uguecione,  to  erect  a  Renaissance 
front  instead  ;  and  another  such  has  been  destroyed,  not  long 
since,  in  Venice,  the  porch  of  the  church  of  St.  Apollinare, 
also  to  put  up  some  Renaissance  upholstery  :  for  Renaissance, 
as  if  it  were  not  nuisance  enough  in  the  mere  fact  of  its  own 
existence,  appears  invariably  as  a  beast  of  prey,  and  founds 
itself  on  the  ruin  of  all  that  is  best  and  noblest.  Many  such 
porches,  however,  happily  still  exist  in  Italy,  and  are  among 
its  principal  glories. 

§  vii.  When  porches  of  this  kind,  carried  by  walls,  are  placed 
close  together,  as  in  cases  where  there  are  many  and  large 
entrances  to  a  cathedral  front,  they  would,  in  their  general  form, 
leave  deep  and  uncomfortable  intervals,  in  which  damp  would 
lodge  and  grass  grow  \  and  there  would  be  a  painful  feeling 
in  approaching  the  door  in  the  midst  of  a  crowd,  as  if  some 
of  them  might  miss  the  real  doors,  and  be  drben  into  the 
intervals,  and  embayed  there.  Clearly  it  will  be  a  natural 
and  right  expedient,  in  such  cases,  to  open  the  walls  of  the 
porch  wider,  so  that  they  may  correspond  in  slope,  or  nearly 
so,  with  the  bevel  of  the  doorway,  and  either  meet  each  other 
in  the  intervals,  or  have  the  said  intervals  closed  up  with  an 
intermediate  wall,  so  that  nobody  may  get  embayed  in  them. 
The  porches  will  thus  be  united,  and  form  one  range  of  great 
open  guiphs  or  caverns,  ready  to  receive  all  comers,  and  di- 
rect the  current  of  the  crowd  into  the  narrower  entrances. 
As  the  lateral  thrust  of  the  arches  is  now  met  by  each  other, 
the  pinnacles,  if  there  were  any,  must  be  removed,  and  water- 
spouts placed  between  each  arch  to  discharge  the  double 
drainage  of  the  gables.  This  is  the  form  of  all  the  noble 
northern  porches,  without  exception,  best  represented  by  that 
of  Rheims. 

§  vm.  Contracted  conditions  of  the  pinnacle  porch  are 
beautifully  used  in  the  doors  of  the  cathedral  of  Florence  ; 
and  the  entire  arrangement,  in  its  most  perfect  form,  as 
adapted  to  window  protection  and  decoration,  is  applied  by 
Giotto  with  inconceivable  exquisiteness  in  the  windows  of  the 
campanile  ;  those  of  the  cathedral  itself  being  all  of  the  same  ^ 


200 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


type.  Various  singular  and  delightful  conditions  of  it  are 
applied  in  Italian  domestic  architecture  (in  the  Broletto  of 
Monza  very  quaintly),  being  associated  with  balconies  for 
speaking  to  the  people,  and  passing  into  pulpits.  In  the 
north  we  glaze  the  sides  of  such  projections,  and  they  become 
bow- windows,  the  shape  of  roofing  being  then  nearly  imma- 
terial and  very  fantastic,  often  a  conical  cap.  All  these  con- 
ditions of  window  protection,  being  for  real  service,  are  end- 
lessly delightful  (and  I  believe  the  beauty  of  the  balcony,  pro- 
tected  by  an  open  canopy  supported  by  light  shafts,  never  yet 
to  have  been  properly  worked  out).  But  the  Kenaissance 
architects  destroyed  all  of  them,  and  introduced  the  magnifi- 
cent and  witty  Roman  invention  of  a  model  of  a  Greek  pedi- 
ment, with  its  cornices  of  monstrous  thickness,  bracketed 
up  above  the  window.  The  horizontal  cornice  of  the  pedi- 
ment is  thus  useless,  and  of  course,  therefore,  retained  ;  the 
protection  to  the  head  of  the  window  being  constructed  on 
the  principle  of  a  hat  with  its  crown  sewn  up.  But  the  deep 
and  dark  triangular  cavity  thus  obtained  affords  farther  op- 
portunity for  putting  ornament  out  of  sight,  of  which  the 
Renaissance  architects  are  not  slow  to  avail  themselves. 

A  more  rational  condition  is  the  complete  pediment  with 
a  couple  of  shafts,  or  pilasters,  carried  on  a  bracketed  sill ; 
and  the  windows  of  this  kind,  which  have  been  well  designed, 
are  perhaps  the  best  things  which  the  Renaissance  schools 
have  produced :  those  of  Whitehall  are,  in  their  way,  ex- 
ceedingly beautiful  ;  and  those  of  the  Palazzo  Ricardi  at 
Florence,  in  their  simplicity  and  sublimity,  are  scarcely  un- 
worthy of  their  reputed  designer,  Michael  Angelo. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

SUPERIMPO  SITION. 

§  i.  The  reader  has  now  some  knowledge  of  every  feature 
of  all  possible  architecture.  Whatever  the  nature  of  the 
building  which  may  be  submitted  to  his  criticism,  if  it  be  an 
edifice  at  all,  if  it  be  anything  else  than  a  mere  heap  of  stones 


SUPERIMPOSITION. 


201 


like  a  pyramid  or  breakwater,  or  than  a  large  stone  hewn  into 
shape,  like  an  obelisk,  it  will  be  instantly  and  easily  resolvable 
into  some  of  the  parts  which  we  have  been  hitherto  consider- 
ing :  its  pinnacles  will  separate  themselves  into  their  small 
shafts  and  roofs ;  its  supporting  members  into  shafts  and 
arches,  or  walls  penetrated  by  apertures  of  various  shape,  and 
supported  by  various  kinds  of  buttresses.  Respecting  each 
of  these  several  features  I  am  certain  that  the  reader  feels 
himself  prepared,  by  understanding  their  plain  function,  to 
form  something  like  a  reasonable  and  definite  judgment, 
whether  they  be  good  or  bad  ;  and  this  right  judgment  of 
parts  will,  in  most  cases,  lead  him  to  just  reverence  or  con- 
demnation of  the  whole. 

§  ii.  The  various  modes  in  which  these  parts  are  capable 
of  combination,  and  the  merits  of  buildings  of  different  form 
and  expression,  are  evidently  not  reducible  into  lists,  nor  to 
be  estimated  by  general  laws.  The  nobility  of  each  building 
depends  on  its  special  fitness  for  its  own  purposes  ;  and  these 
purposes  vary  with  every  climate,  every  soil,  and  every  national 
custom  :  nay,  there  were  never,  probably,  two  edifices  erected 
in  which  some  accidental  difference  of  condition  did  not 
require  some  difference  of  plan  or  of  structure  ;  so  that, 
respecting  plan  and  distribution  of  parts,  I  do  not  hope  to 
collect  any  universal  law  of  right ;  but  there  are  a  few  points 
necessary  to  be  noticed  respecting  the  means  by  which  height 
is  attained  in  buildings  of  various  plans,  and  the  expediency 
and  methods  of  superimposition  of  one  story  or  tier  of  archi- 
tecture above  another. 

§  in.  For,  in  the  preceding  inquiry,  I  have  always  sup- 
posed either  that  a  single  shaft  would  reach  to  the  top  of  the 
building,  or  that  the  farther  height  required  might  be  added 
in  plain  wall  above  the  heads  of  the  arches  ;  whereas  it  may 
often  be  rather  expedient  to  complete  the  entire  lower  series 
of  arches,  or  finish  the  lower  wall,  with  a  bold  string  course 
or  cornice,  and  build  another  series  of  shafts,  or  another  wall, 
on  the  top  of  it. 

§  iv.  This  superimposition  is  seen  in  its  simplest  form  in 
the  interior  shafts  of  a  Greek  temple  ;  and  it  has  been  largely  ^ 


202 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


used  in  nearly  all  countries  where  buildings  have  been  meant 
for  real  service.  Outcry  has  often  been  raised  against  it,  but 
the  thing  is  so  sternly  necessary  that  it  has  always  forced  it- 
self into  acceptance ;  and  it  would,  therefore,  be  merely  losing 
time  to  refute  the  arguments  of  those  who  have  attempted  its 
disparagement.  Thus  far,  however,  they  have  reason  on  their 
side,  that  if  a  building  can  be  kept  in  one  grand  mass,  with- 
out sacrificing  either  its  visible  or  real  adaptation  to  its  ob- 
jects, it  is  not  well  to  divide  it  into  stories  until  it  has  reached 
proportions  too  large  to  be  justly  measured  by  the  eye.  It 
ought  then  to  be  divided  in  order  to  mark  its  bulk  ;  and 
decorative  divisions  are  often  possible,  which  rather  increase 
than  destroy  the  expression  of  general  unity. 

§  v.  Superimposition,  wisely  practised,  is  of  two  kinds,  di- 
rectly contrary  to  each  other,  of  weight  on  lightness,  and  of 
lightness  on  weight ;  while  the  superimposition  of  weight  on 
weight,  or  lightness  on  lightness,  is  nearly  always  wrong. 

1.  "Weight  on  lightness  :  I  do  not  say  weight  on  iceakness. 
The  superimposition  of  the  human  body  on  its  limbs  I  call 
weight  on  lightness  :  the  superimposition  of  the  branches  on 
a  tree  trunk  I  call  lightness  on  weight :  in  both  cases  the 
support  is  fully  adequate  to  the  work,  the  form  of  support 
being  regulated  by  the  differences  of  requirement.  Nothing 
in  architecture  is  half  so  painful  as  the  apparent  want  of  suf- 
ficient support  when  the  weight  above  is  visibly  passive  :  for 
all  buildings  are  not  passive  ;  some  seem  to  rise  by  their  own 
strength,  or  float  by  their  own  buoyancy  ;  a  dome  requires  no 
visibility  of  support,  one  fancies  it  supported  by  the  air.  But 
passive  architecture  without  help  for  its  passiveness  is  unen- 
durable. In  a  lately  built  house,  No.  8G,  in  Oxford  Street, 
three  huge  stone  pillars  in  the  second  story  are  carried  ap- 
parently by  the  edges  of  three  sheets  of  plate  glass  in  the 
first  I  hardly  know  anything  to  match  the  painfulness  of 
this  and  some  other  of  our  shop  structures,  in  which  the 
iron-work  is  concealed  ;  nor,  even  when  it  is  apparent,  can 
the  eye  ever  feel  satisfied  of  their  security,  when  built,  as  at 
present,  with  fifty  or  sixty  feet  of  wall  above  a  rod  of  iron  not 
the  width  of  this  page. 


StTPERlMPOSlTlON. 


203 


§  vi.  The  proper  forms  of  this  superimposition  of  weight 
on  lightness  have  arisen,  for  the  most  part,  from  the  neces- 
sity or  desirableness,  in  many  situations,  of  elevating  the  in- 
habited portions  of  buildings  considerably  above  the  ground 
level,  especially  those  exposed  to  damp  or  inundation,  and 
the  consequent  abandonment  of  the  ground  story  as  un- 
serviceable, or  else  the  surrender  of  it  to  public  purposes. 
Thus,  in  many  market  and  town  houses,  the  ground  story  is 
left  open  as  a  general  place  of  sheltered  resort,  and  the  en- 
closed apartments  raised  on  pillars.  In  almost  all  warm 
countries  the  luxury,  almost  the  necessity,  of  arcades  to  pro- 
tect the  passengers  from  the  sun,  and  the  desirableness  of 
large  space  in  the  rooms  above,  lead  to  the  same  construc- 
tion. Throughout  the  Venetian  islet  group,  the  houses  seem 
to  have  been  thus,  in  the  first  instance,  universally  built,  all 
the  older  palaces  appearing  to  have  had  the  rez  de  chaussee 
perfectly  open,  the  upper  parts  of  the  palace  being  sustained 
on  magnificent  arches,  and  the  smaller  houses  sustained  in  the 
same  manner  on  wooden  piers,  still  retained  in  many  of  the 
cortiles,  and  exhibited  characteristically  throughout  the  main 
street  of  Murano.  As  ground  became  more  valuable  and 
house-room  more  scarce,  these  ground-floors  were  enclosed 
with  wall  veils  between  the  original  shafts,  and  so  remain  ; 
but  the  type  of  the  structure  of  the  entire  city  is  given  in  the 
Ducal  Palace. 

§  vii.  To  this  kind  of  superimposition  we  owe  the  most 
picturesque  street  effects  throughout  the  world,  and  the  most 
graceful,  as  well  as  the  most  grotesque,  buildings,  from  the 
many-shafted  fantasy  of  the  Alhambra  (a  building  as  beautiful 
in  disposition  as  it  is  base  in  ornamentation)  to  the  four-legged 
stolidity  of  the  Swiss  Chalet :  *  nor  these  only,  but  great  part 
of  the  effect  of  our  cathedrals,  in  which,  necessarily,  the  close 

*  I  have  spent  much  of  my  life  among  the  Alps;  but  I  never  pass,  with- 
out some  feeling  of  new  surprise,  the  Chalet,  standing  on  its  four  pegs 
(each  topped  with  a  flat  stone),  balanced  in  the  fury  of  Alpine  winds.  It  is 
not,  perhaps,  generally  known  that  the  chief  use  of  the  arrangement  is  not 
so  much  to  raise  the  building  above  the  snow,  as  to  get  a  draught  of  wind 
beneath  it,  which  may  prevent  the  drift  from  rising  against  its  sides. 


204 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


triforium  and  clerestory  walls  are  superimposed  on  the  nave 
piers  ;  perhaps  with  most  majesty  where  with  greatest  sim- 
plicity, as  in  the  old  basilican  types,  and  the  noble  cathedral 
of  Pisa. 

§  viii.  In  order  to  the  delightfulness  and  security  of  all 
such  arrangements,  this  law  must  be  observed  : — that  in  pro- 
portion to  the  height  of  wall  above  them,  the  shafts  are  to 
be  short.  You  may  take  your  given  height  of  wall,  and  turn 
any  quantity  of  that  wall  into  shaft  that  you  like  ;  but  you 
must  not  turn  it  all  into  tall  shafts,  and  then  put  more  wall 
above.  Thus,  having  a  house  five  stories  high,  you  may  turn 
the  lower  story  into  shafts,  and  leave  the  four  stories  in  wall ; 
or  the  two  lower  stories  into  shafts,  and  leave  three  in  wall ; 
but,  whatever  you  add  to  the  shaft,  you  must  take  from  the 
wall.  Then  also,  of  course,  the  shorter  the  shaft  the  thicker 
will  be  its  proportionate,  if  not  its  actual,  diameter.  In  the 
Ducal  Palace  of  Venice  the  shortest  shafts  are  always  the. 
thickest.* 

§  ix.  The  second  kind  of  superimposition,  lightness  on 
weight,  is,  in  its  most  necessary  use,  of  stories  of  houses  one 
upon  another,  where,  of  course,  wall  veil  is  required  in  the 
lower  ones,  and  has  to  support  wall  veil  above,  aided  by  as 
much  of  shaft  structure  as  is  attainable  within  the  given 
limits.  The  greatest,  if  not  the  only,  merit  of  the  Koman 
and  Kenaissance  Venetian  architects  is  their  graceful  manage- 
ment of  this  kind  of  superimposition  ;  sometimes  of  complete 
courses  of  external  arches  and  shafts  one  above  the  other  ; 
sometimes  of  apertures  with  intermediate  cornices  at  the  levels 
of  the  floors,  and  large  shafts  from  top  to  bottom  of  the  build- 
ing ;  always  observing  that  the  upper  stories  shall  be  at  once 
lighter  and  richer  than  the  lower  ones.  The  entire  value  of 
such  buildings  depends  upon  the  perfect  and  easy  expression 
of  the  relative  strength  of  the  stories,  and  the  unity  obtained 
by  the  varieties  of  their  proportions,  while  yet  the  fact  of 
superimposition  and  separation  by  floors  is  frankly  told. 

§  x.  In  churches  and  other  buildings  in  which  there  is  no 
separation  by  floors,  another  kind  of  pure  shaft  superimposition 
*  Appendix  20,  "  Shafts  of  the  Ducal  Palace." 


SUPERIMPOSITION. 


205 


is  often  used,  in  order  to  enable  the  builder  to  avail  himself  of 
short  and  slender  shafts.  It  has  been  noted  that  these  are 
often  easily  attainable,  and  of  precious  materials,  when  shafts 
large  enough  and  strong  enough  to  do  the  work  at  once,  could 
not  be  obtained  except  at  unjustifiable  expense,  and  of  coarse 
stone.  The  architect  has  then  no  choice  but  to  arrange  his 
work  in  successive  stories  ;  either  frankly  completing  the  arch 
work  and  cornice  of  each,  and  beginning  a  new  story  above  it, 
which  is  the  honester  and  nobler  way,  or  else  tying  the  stories 
together  by  supplementary  shafts  from  floor  to  roof, — the 
general  practice  of  the  Nothern  Gothic,  and  one  which,  unless 
most  gracefully  managed,  gives  the  look  of  a  scaffolding,  with 
cross-poles  tied  to  its  uprights,  to  the  whole  clerestory  wall. 
The  best  method  is  that  which  avoids  all  chance  of  the  upright 
shafts  being  supposed  continuous,  by  increasing  their  number 
and  changing  their  places  in  the  upper  stories,  so  that  the 
whole  work  branches  from  the  ground  like  a  tree.  This  is  the 
superimposition  of  the  Byzantine  and  the  Pisan  Romanesque  ; 
the  most  beautiful  examples  of  it  being,  I  think,  the  Southern 
portico  of  St.  Mark's,  the  church  of  S.  Giovanni  at  Pistoja, 
and  the  apse  of  the  cathedral  of  Pisa.  In  Renaissance  work 
the  two  principles  are  equally  distinct,  though  the  shafts  are 
(I  think)  always  one  above  the  other.  The  reader  may  see  one 
of  the  best  examples  of  the  separately  superimposed  story  in 
Whitehall  (and  another  far  inferior  in  St.  Paul's),  and  by  turn- 
ing himself  round  at  Whitehall  may  compare  with  it  the  sys- 
tem of  connecting  shafts  in  the  Treasury  ;  though  this  is  a 
singularly  bad  example,  the  window  cornices  of  the  first  floor 
being  like  shelves  in  a  cupboard,  and  cutting  the  mass  of  the 
building  in  two,  in  spite  of  the  pillars. 

§  xi.  But  this  superimposition  of  lightness  on  weight  is 
still  more  distinctly  the  system  of  many  buildings  of  the  kind 
which  I  have  above  called  Architecture  of  Position,  that  is  to 
say,  architecture  of  which  the  greater  part  is  intended  merely 
to  keep  something  in  a  peculiar  position  ;  as  in  light-houses, 
and  many  towers  and  belfries.  The  subject  of  spire  and  tower 
architecture,  however,  is  so  interesting  and  extensive,  that  I 
have  thoughts  of  writing  a  detached  essay  upon  it,  and,  at  al] 


THE  STONES  OP  VENICE. 


events,  cannot  enter  upon  it  here  :  but  this  much  is  enough 
for  the  reader  to  note  for  our  present  purpose,  that,  although 
many  towers  do  in  reality  stand  on  piers  or  shafts,  as  the  cen- 
tral towers  of  cathedrals,  yet  the  expression  of  all  of  them, 
and  the  real  structure  of  the  best  and  strongest,  are  the  eleva- 
tion of  gradually  diminishing  weight  on  massy  or  even  solid 
foundation.  Nevertheless,  since  the  tower  is  in  its  origin  a 
building  for  strength  of  defence,  and  faithfulness  of  watch, 
rather  than  splendor  of  aspect,  its  true  expression  is  of  just  so 
much  diminution  of  weight  upwards  as  may  be  necessary  to 
its  fully  balanced  strength,  not  a  jot  more.  There  must  be 
no  light- headedness  in  your  noble  tower  :  impregnable  founda- 
tion, wrathful  crest,  with  the  vizor  down,  and  the  dark  vigil- 
ance seen  through  the  clefts  of  it  ;  not  the  filigree  crown  or 
embroidered  cap.  No  towers  are  so  grand  as  the  square- 
browed  ones,  with  massy  cornices  and  rent  battlements  :  next 
to  these  come  the  fantastic  towers,  with  their  various  forms 
of  steep  roof ;  the  best,  not  the  cone,  but  the  plain  gable 
thrown  very  high  ;  last  of  all  in  my  mind  (of  good  towers), 
those  with  spires  or  crowns,  though  these,  of  course,  are  fittest 
for  ecclesiastical  purposes,  and  capable  of  the  richest  orna- 
ment. The  paltry  four  or  eight  pinnacled  things  we  call 
towers  in  England  (as  in  York  Minster),  are  mere  confec- 
tioner's Gothic,  and  not  worth  classing. 

§  xii.  But,  in  all  of  them,  this  I  believe  to  be  a  point  of 
chief  necessity, — that  they  shall  seem  to  stand,  and  shall  verily 
stand,  in  their  own  strength  ;  not  by  help  of  buttresses  nor 
artful  balancings  on  this  side  and  on  that.  Your  noble  tower 
must  need  no  help,  must  be  sustained  by  no  crutches,  must 
give  place  to  no  suspicion  of  decrepitude.  Its  office  may  be 
to  withstand  war,  look  forth  for  tidings,  or  to  point  to  heaven  : 
but  it  must  have  in  its  own  walls  the  strength  to  do  this  ;  it  is 
to  be  itself  a  bulwark,  not  to  be  sustained  by  other  bulwarks  ; 
to  rise  and  look  forth,  "  the  tower  of  Lebanon  that  looketh 
toward  Damascus, "  like  a  stern  sentinel,  not  like  a  child  held 
up  in  its  nurse's  arms.  A  tower  may,  indeed,  have  a  kind  of 
buttress,  a  projection,  or  subordinate  tower  at  each  of  its 
angles  ;  but  these  are  to  its  main  body  like  the  satellites  to  a 


Plate  VI.— Types  op  Towers. 


SUPERIMP0S1TI0N. 


201 


shaft,  joined  with  its  strength,  and  associated  in  its  upright* 
ness,  part  of  the  tower  itself :  exactly  in  the  proportion  in 
which  they  lose  their  massive  unity  with  its  body  and  assume 
the  form  of  true  buttress  walls  set  on  its  angles,  the  tower 
loses  its  dignity. 

§  xni.  These  two  characters,  then,  are  common  to  all  noble 
towers,  however  otherwise  different  in  purpose  or  feature, — ■ 
the  first,  that  they  rise  from  massy  foundation  to  lighter  sum- 
mits, frowning  with  battlements  perhaps,  but  yet  evidently 
more  pierced  and  thinner  in  wall  than  beneath,  and,  in  most 
ecclesiastical  examples,  divided  into  rich  open  work  :  the  sec- 
ond, that  whatever  the  form  of  the  tower,  it  shall  not  appear 
to  stand  by  help  of  buttresses.  It  follows  from  the  first  con- 
dition, as  indeed  it  would  have  followed  from  ordinary  aesthetic 
requirements,  that  we  shall  have  continual  variation  in  the 
arrangements  of  the  stories,  and  the  larger  number  of  aper- 
tures towards  the  top, — a  condition  exquisitely  carried  out  in 
the  old  Lombardic  towers,  in  which,  however  small  they  may 
be,  the  number  of  apertures  is  always  regularly  increased  to- 
wards the  summit ;  generally  one  window  in  the  lowest  stories, 
two  in  the  second,  then  three,  five,  and  six  ;  often,  also,  one, 
two,  four,  and  six,  with  beautiful  symmetries  of  placing,  not 
at  present  to  our  purpose.  We  may  sufficiently  exemplify  the 
general  laws  of  tower  building  by  placing  side  by  side,  drawn 
to  the  same  scale,  a  mediaeval  tower,  in  which  most  of  them 
are  simply  and  unaffectedly  observed,  and  one  of  our  own 
modern  towers,  in  which  every  one  of  them  is  violated,  in 
smfdl  space,  convenient  for  comparison*.    (Plate  VI.) 

§  xiv.  The  old  tower  is  that  of  St.  Mark's  at  Venice,  not  a 
very  perfect  example,  for  its  top  is  Renaissance,  but  as  good 
Renaissance  as  there  is  in  Venice  ;  and  it  is  fit  for  our  present 
purpose,  because  it  owes  none  of  its  effect  to  ornament.  It  is 
built  as  simply  as  it  well  can  be  to  answer  its  purpose  :  no 
buttresses  ;  no  external  features  whatever,  except  some  huts 
at  the  base,  and  the  loggia,  afterwards  built,  which,  on  pur* 
pose,  I  have  not  drawn  ;  one  bold  square  mass  of  brickwork  ; 
double  walls,  with  an  ascending  inclined  plane  between  them, 
with  apertures  as  small  as  possible,  and  these  only  in  neces-  ^ 


208 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


sary  places,  giving  just  the  light  required  for  ascending  the 
stair  or  slope,  not  a  ray  more  ;  and  the  weight  of  the  whole 
relieved  only  by  the  double  pilasters  on  the  sides,  sustaining 
small  arches  at  the  top  of  the  mass,  each  decorated  with  the 
scallop  or  cockle  shell,  presently  to  be  noticed  as  frequent  in 
Renaissance  ornament,  and  here,  for  once,  thoroughly  well 
applied.  Then,  when  the  necessary  height  is  reached,  the 
belfry  is  left  open,  as  in  the  ordinary  Romanesque  campanile, 
only  the  shafts  more  slender,  but  severe  and  simple,  and  the 
whole  crowned  by  as  much  spire  as  the  tower  would  carry, 
to  render  it  more  serviceable  as  a  landmark.  The  arrange- 
ment is  repeated  in  numberless  campaniles  throughout 
Italy. 

§  xv.  The  one  beside  it  is  one  of  those  of  the  lately  built 
college  at  Edinburgh.  I  have  not  taken  it  as  worse  than  many 
others  (just  as  I  have  not  taken  the  St.  Mark's  tower  as  better 
than  many  others)  ;  but  it  happens  to  compress  our  British 
system  of  tower  building  into  small  space.  The  Venetian 
tower  rises  350  feet,*  and  has  no  buttresses,  though  built  of 
brick  ;  the  British  tower  rises  121  feet,  and  is  built  of  stone, 
but  is  supposed  to  be  incapable  of  standing  without  two  huge 
buttresses  on  each  angle.  The  St.  Mark's  tower  has  a  high 
sloping  roof,  but  carries  it  simply,  requiring  no  pinnacles  at 
its  angles  ;  the  British  tower  has  no  visible  roof,  but  has  four 
pinnacles  for  mere  ornament.  The  Venetian  tower  has  its 
lightest  part  at  the  top,  and  is  massy  at  the  base  ;  the  British 
tower  has  its  lightest  part  at  the  base,  and  shuts  up  its  win- 
dows into  a  mere  arrDwslit  at  the  top.  What  the  tower  was 
built  for  at  all  must  therefore,  it  seems  to  me,  remain  a  mys- 
tery to  every  beholder  ;  for  surely  no  studious  inhabitant  of 
its  upper  chambers  will  be  conceived  to  be  pursuing  his  em- 
ployments by  the  light  of  the  single  chink  on  each  side  ;  and, 
had  it  been  intended  for  a  belfry,  the  sound  of  its  bells  would 

*  I  have  taken  Professor  Willis's  estimate  ;  there  being  discrepancy 
among  various  statements.  I  did  not  take  the  trouble  to  measure  the 
height  myself,  the  building  being  one  which  does  not  come  within  the 
range  of  our  future  inquiries  ;  and  its  exact  dimensions,  even  here,  are 
of  no  importance  as  respects  the  question  at  issue, 


SUPERIMP0S1TI0N. 


209 


have  been  as  effectually  prevented  from  getting  out,  as  the 
light  from  getting  in. 

§  xvi.  In  connexion  with  the  subject  of  towers  and  of  su- 
perimposition,  one  other  feature,  not  conveniently  to  be 
omitted  from  our  house-building,  requires  a  moment's  notice, 
— the  staircase. 

In  modern  houses  it  can  hardly  be  considered  an  architect 
ural  feature,  and  is  nearly  always  an  ugly  one,  from  its  being 
apparently  without  support.  And  here  I  may  not  unfitly  note 
the  important  distinction,  which  perhaps  ought  to  have  been 
dwelt  upon  in  some  places  before  now,  between  the  ?na?%vellous 
and  the  perilous  in  apparent  construction.  There  are  many 
edifices  which  are  awful  or  admirable  in  their  height,  and 
lightness,  and  boldness  of  form,  respecting  which,  neverthe- 
less, we  have  no  fear  that  they  should  fall.  Many  a  mighty 
dome  and  aerial  aisle  and  arch  may  seem  to  stand,  as  I  said, 
by  miracle,  but  by  steadfast  miracle  notwithstanding  ;  there 
is  no  fear  that  the  miracle  should  cease.  We  have  a  sense  of 
inherent  power  in  them,  or,  at  all  events,  of  concealed  and 
mysterious  provision  for  their  safety.  But  in  leaning  towers, 
as  of  Pisa  or  Bologna,  and  in  much  minor  architecture,  pas- 
sive architecture,  of  modern  times,  we  feel  that  there  is  but  a 
chance  between  the  building  and  destruction  ;  that  there  is  no 
miraculous  life  in  it,  which  animates  it  into  security,  but  an 
obstinate,  perhaps  vain,  resistance  to  immediate  danger.  The 
appearance  of  this  is  often  as  strong  in  small  things  as  in 
large  ;  in  the  sounding-boards  of  pulpits,  for  instance,  when 
sustained  by  a  single  pillar  behind  them,  so  that  one  is  in 
dread,  during  the  whole  sermon,  of  the  preacher  being  crushed 
if  a  single  nail  should  give  way ;  and  again,  the  modern  geo- 
metrical unsupported  staircase.  There  is  great  disadvantage, 
also,  in  the  arrangement  of  this  latter,  when  room  is  of  value  ; 
and  excessive  ungracefulness  in  its  awkward  divisions  of  the 
passage  walls,  or  windows.  In  mediaeval  architecture,  where 
there  was  need  of  room,  the  staircase  was  spiral,  and  enclosed 
generally  in  an  exterior  tower,  which  added  infinitely  to  the 
picturesque  effect  of  the  building  ;  nor  was  the  stair  itself 
steeper  nor  less  commodious  than  the  ordinary  compressed 
Vol.  I. — 14 


210 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


straight  staircase  of  a  modern  dwelling-house.  Many  of  the 
richest  towers  of  domestic  architecture  owe  their  origin  to 
this  arrangement.  In  Italy  the  staircase  is  often  in  the  open 
air,  surrounding  the  interior  court  of  the  house,  and  giving 
access  to  its  various  galleries  or  loggias  :  in  this  case  it  is  aL 
most  always  supported  by  bold  shafts  and  arches,  and  forms 
a  most  interesting  additional  feature  of  the  cortile,  but  pre- 
sents no  peculiarity  of  construction  requiring  our  present  ex- 
amination. 

"We  may  here,  therefore,  close  our  inquiries  into  the  sub- 
ject of  construction  ;  nor  must  the  reader  be  dissatisfied  with 
the  simplicity  or  apparent  barrenness  of  their  present  results. 
He  will  find,  when  he  begins  to  apply  them,  that  they  are  of 
more  value  than  they  now  seem  ;  but  I  have  studiously  avoided 
letting  myself  be  drawn  into  any  intricate  question,  because  I 
wished  to  ask  from  the  reader  only  so  much  attention  as  it 
seemed  that  even  the  most  indifferent  would  not  be  unwilling 
to  pay  to  a  subject  which  is  hourly  becoming  of  greater  prac- 
tical interest.  Evidently  it  would  have  been  altogether  beside 
the  purpose  of  this  essay  to  have  entered  deeply  into  the  ab- 
stract science,  or  closely  into  the  mechanical  detail,  of  con- 
struction :  both  have  been  illustrated  by  writers  far  more 
capable  of  doing  so  than  I,  and  may  be  studied  at  the  reader's 
discretion  ;  all  that  has  been  here  endeavored  was  the  leading 
him  to  appeal  to  something  like  definite  principle,  and  refer 
to  the  easily  intelligible  laws  of  convenience  and  necessity, 
whenever  he  found  his  judgment  likely  to  be  overborne  by 
authority  on  the  one  hand,  or  dazzled  by  novelty  on  the  other. 
If  he  has  time  to  do  more,  and  to  follow  out  in  all  their  brill- 
iancy the  mechanical  inventions  of  the  great  engineers  and 
architects  of  the  day,  I,  in  some  sort,  envy  him,  but  must  part 
company  with  him  :  for  my  way  lies  not  along  the  viaduct, 
but  down  the  quiet  valley  which  its  arches  cross,  nor  through 
the  tunnel,  but  up  the  hill-side  which  its  cavern  darkens,  to 
aee  what  gifts  Nature  will  give  us,  and  with  what  imagery  she 
will  fill  our  thoughts,  that  the  stones  we  have  ranged  in  rude 
order  may  now  be  touched  with  life  ;  nor  lose  for  ever,  in 
their  hewn  nakedness,  the  voices  they  had  of  old,  when  the 


THE  MATERIAL  OF  ORNAMENT. 


211 


valley  streamlet  eddied  round  them  in  palpitating  light,  and 
the  winds  of  the  hill-side  shook  over  them  the  shadows  of  the 
fern. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE  MATERIAL  OF  ORNAMENT. 

§  i.  We  enter  now  on  the  second  division  of  our  subject. 
We  have  no  more  to  do  with  heavy  stones  and  hard  lines  ;  we 
are  going  to  be  happy  :  to  look  round  in  the  world  and  dis- 
cover (in  a  serious  manner  always,  however,  and  under  a  sense 
of  responsibility)  what  we  like  best  in  it,  and  to  enjoy  the  same 
at  our  leisure  :  to  gather  it,  examine  it,  fasten  all  we  can  of  it 
into  imperishable  forms,  and  put  it  where  we  may  see  it  for 
ever. 

This  is  to  decorate  architecture. 

§  ii.  There  are,  therefore,  three  steps  in  the  process  :  first, 
to  find  out  in  a  grave  manner  what  we  like  best ;  secondly, 
to  put  as  much  of  this  as  we  can  (which  is  little  enough)  into 
form ;  thirdly,  to  put  this  formed  abstraction  into  a  proper 
place. 

And  we  have  now,  therefore,  to  make  these  three  inquiries 
in  succession  first,  what  we  like,  or  what  is  the  right  material 
of  ornament ;  then  how  we  are  to  present  it,  or  its  right  treat- 
ment ;  then,  where  we  are  to  put  it,  or  its  right  place.  I  think 
I  can  answer  that  first  inquiry  in  this  Chapter,  the  second  in- 
quiry in  the  next  Chapter,  and  the  third  I  shall  answer  in  a 
more  diffusive  manner,  by  taking  up  in  succession  the  several 
parts  of  architecture  above  distinguished,  and  rapidly  noting 
the  kind  of  ornament  fittest  for  each. 

§  in.  I  said  in  chapter  II.  §  xrv.,  that  all  noble  ornamenta- 
tion was  the  expression  of  man's  delight  in  God's  work.  This 
implied  that  there  was  an  ignoble  ornamentation,  which  was 
the  expression  of  man's  delight  in  his  own.  There  is  such  a 
school,  chiefly  degraded  classic  and  Eenaissance,  in  which  the 
ornament  is  composed  of  imitations  of  things  made  by  man.  I 
think,  before  inquiring  what  we  like  best  of  God's  work,  we  ^ 


212 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


had  better  get  rid  of  all  this  imitation  of  man's,  and  be  quite 
sure  we  do  not  like  that. 

§  iv.  We  shall  rapidly  glance,  then,  at  the  material  of  deco- 
ration hence  derived.  And  now  I  cannot,  as  I  before  have 
done  respecting  construction,  convince  the  reader  of  one  thing 
being  wrong,  and  another  right.  I  have  confessed  as  much 
again  and  again  ;  I  am  now  only  to  make  appeal  to  him,  and 
cross-question  him,  whether  he  really  does  like  things  or  not. 
If  he  likes  the  ornament  on  the  base  of  the  column  of  the  Place 
Vendome,  composed  of  Wellington  boots  and  laced  frock  coats, 
I  cannot  help  it  ;  I  can  only  say  I  differ  from  him,  and  don't 
like  it.  And  if,  therefore,  I  speak  dictatorially,  and  say  this 
is  base,  or  degraded,  or  ugly,  I  mean  only  that  I  believe  men 
of  the  longest  experience  in  the  matter  would  either  think  it 
so,  or  would  be  prevented  from  thinking  it  so  only  by  some 
morbid  condition  of  their  minds  ;  and  I  believe  that  the  reader, 
if  he  examine  himself  candidly,  will  usually  agree  in  my 
statements. 

§  v.  The  subjects  of  ornament  found  in  man's  work  ma} 
properly  fall  into  four  heads  :  1.  Instruments  of  art,  agriculture, 
and  war ;  armor,  and  dress  ;  2.  Drapery ;  3.  Shipping ;  4. 
Architecture  itself. 

1.  Instruments,  armor,  and  dress. 

The  custom  of  raising  trophies  on  pillars,  and  of  dedicating 
arms  in  temples,  appears  to  have  first  suggested  the  idea  of 
employing  them  as  the  subjects  of  sculptural  ornament : 
thenceforward,  this  abuse  has  been  chiefly  characteristic  of 
classical  architecture,  whether  true  or  Kenaissance.  Armor  is 
a  noble  thing  in  its  proper  service  and  subordination  to  the 
body  ;  so  is  an  animal's  hide  on  its  back  ;  but  a  heap  of  cast 
skins,  or  of  shed  armor,  is  alike  unworthy  of  all  regard  or  imi- 
tation. We  owe  much  true  sublimity,  and  more  of  delightful 
picturesqueness,  to  the  introduction  of  armor  both  in  painting 
and  sculpture  :  in  poetry  it  is  better  still, — Homer's  undressed 
Achilles  is  less  grand  than  his  crested  and  shielded  Achilles, 
though  Phidias  would  rather  have  had  him  naked  ;  in  all  medi- 
aeval painting,  arms,  like  all  other  parts  of  costume,  are  treated 
with  exquisite  care  and  delight ;  in  the  designs  of  Leonardo, 


THE  MATERIAL  OF  ORNAMENT,  218 


Raffaelle,  and  Perugino,  the  armor  sometimes  becomes  almost 
too  conspicuous  from  the  rich  and  endless  invention  bestowed 
upon  it ;  while  Titian  and  Eubens  seek  in  its  flash  what  the 
Milanese  and  Perugian  sought  in  its  form,  sometimes  subordi- 
nating heroism  to  the  light  of  the  steel,  while  the  great 
designers  wearied  themselves  in  its  elaborate  fancy. 

But  all  this  labor  was  given  to  the  living,  not  the  dead 
armor  ;  to  the  shell  with  its  animal  in  it,  not  the  cast  shell  of 
the  beach ;  and  even  so,  it  was  introduced  more  sparingly  by 
the  good  sculptors  than  the  good  painters  ;  for  the  former 
felt,  and  with  justice,  that  the  painter  had  the  power  of  con- 
quering the  over  prominence  of  costume  by  the  expression 
and  color  of  the  countenance,  and  that  by  the  darkness  of  the 
eye,  and  glow  of  the  cheek,  he  could  always  conquer  the  gloom 
and  the  flash  of  the  mail ;  but  they  could  hardly,  by  any 
boldness  or  energy  of  the  marble  features,  conquer  the  for- 
wardness and  conspicuousness  of  the  sharp  armorial  forms. 
Their  armed  figures  were  therefore  almost  always  subordi- 
nate, their  principal  figures  draped  or  naked,  and  their  choice 
of  subject  was  much  influenced  by  this  feeling  of  necessity. 
But  the  Renaissance  sculptors  displayed  the  love  of  a  Camilla 
for  the  mere  crest  and  plume.  Paltry  and  false  alike  in  every 
feeling  of  their  narrowed  minds,  they  attached  themselves,  not 
only  to  costume  without  the  person,  but  to  the  pettiest  de- 
tails of  the  costume  itself.  They  could  not  describe  Achilles, 
but  they  could  describe  his  shield ;  a  shield  like  those  of 
dedicated  spoil,  without  a  handle,  never  to  be  waved  in  the 
face  of  war.  And  then  we  have  helmets  and  lances,  banners 
and  swords,  sometimes  with  men  to  hold  them,  sometimes 
without ;  but  always  chiselled  with  a  tailor-like  love  of  the 
chasing  or  the  embroidery, — show  helmets  of  the  stage,  no 
Vulcan  work  on  them,  no  heavy  hammer  strokes,  no  Etna  fire 
in  the  metal  of  them,  nothing  but  pasteboard  crests  and  high 
feathers.  And  these,  cast  together  in  disorderly  heaps,  or 
grinning  vacantly  over  key-stones,  form  one  of  the  leading 
decorations  of  Renaissance  architecture,  and  that  one  of  the 
best ;  for  helmets  and  lances,  however  loosely  laid,  are  better 
than  violins,  and  pipes,  and  books  of  music,  which  were 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


another  of  the  Palladian  and  Sansovinian  sources  of  orna 
ment.  Supported  by  ancient  authority,  the  abuse  soon  be- 
came a  matter  of  pride,  and  since  it  was  easy  to  copy  a  heap 
of  cast  clothes,  but  difficult  to  manage  an  arranged  design  of 
human  figures,  the  indolence  of  architects  came  to  the  aid  of 
their  affectation,  until  by  the  moderns  we  find  the  practice 
carried  out  to  its  most  interesting  results,  and,  as  above 
noted,  a  large  pair  of  boots  occupying  the  principal  place  in 
the  bas-reliefs  on  the  base  of  the  Colonne  Vendome. 

§  vi.  A  less  offensive,  because  singularly  grotesque,  ex- 
ample  of  the  abuse  at  its  height,  occurs  in  the  Hotel  des  In- 
valides,  where  the  dormer  windows  are  suits  of  armor  down 
to  the  bottom  of  the  corselet,  crowned  by  the  helmet,  and 
with  the  window  in  the  middle  of  the  breast. 

Instruments  of  agriculture  and  the  arts  are  of  less  frequent 
occurrence,  except  in  hieroglyphics,  and  other  work,  where 
they  are  not  employed  as  ornaments,  but  represented  for  the 
sake  of  accurate  knowledge,  or  as  symbols.  Wherever  they 
have  purpose  of  this  kind,  they  are  of  course  perfectly  right ; 
but  they  are  then  part  of  the  building's  conversation,  not  con- 
ducive to  its  beauty.  The  French  have  managed,  with  great 
dexterity,  the  representation  of  the  machinery  for  the  eleva- 
tion of  their  Luxor  obelisk,  nowT  sculptured  on  its  base. 

§  vii.  2.  Drapery.  I  have  already  spoken  of  the  error  of 
introducing  drapery,  as  such,  for  ornament,  in  the  "  Seven 
Lamps."  I  may  here  note  a  curious  instance  of  the  abuse  in 
the  church  of  the  Jesuiti  at  Venice  (Renaissance).  On  first 
entering  you  suppose  that  the  church,  being  in  a  poor  quarter 
of  the  city,  has  been  somewhat  meanly  decorated  by  heavy 
green  and  white  curtains  of  an  ordinary  upholsterer's  pat- 
tern :  on  looking  closer,  they  are  discovered  to  be  of  marble, 
with  the  green  pattern  inlaid.  Another  remarkable  instance 
is  in  a  piece  of  not  altogether  unworthy  architecture  at  Paris 
(Rue  Rivoli),  where  the  columns  are  supposed  to  be  decorated 
with  images  of  handkerchiefs  tied  in  a  stout  knot  round  the 
middle  of  them.  This  shrewd  invention  bids  fair  to  become  a 
new  order.  Multitudes  of  massy  curtains  and  various  uphoh 
stery,  more  or  less  in  imitation  of  that  of  the  drawing-room, 


THE  MATERIAL  OF  ORNAMENT.  215 


are  carved  and  gilt,  in  wood  or  stone,  about  the  altars  and 
other  theatrical  portions  of  Romanist  churches  ;  but  from 
these  coarse  and  senseless  vulgarities  we  may  well  turn,  in  all 
haste,  to  note,  with  respect  as  well  as  regret,  one  of  the  errors 
of  the  great  school  of  Niccolo  Pisano, — an  error  so  full  of 
feeling  as  to  be  sometimes  all  but  redeemed,  and  altogether 
forgiven, — the  sculpture,  namely,  of  curtains  around  the  re- 
cumbent statues  upon  tombs,  curtains  which  angels  are  rep- 
resented as  withdrawing,  to  gaze  upon  the  faces  of  those  who 
are  at  rest.  For  some  time  the  idea  was  simply  and  slightly 
expressed,  and  though  there  was  always  a  painfullness  in  find- 
ing the  shafts  of  stone,  which  were  felt  to  be  the  real  support- 
ers of  the  canopy,  represented  as  of  yielding  drapery,  yet  the 
beauty  of  the  angelic  figures,  and  the  tenderness  of  the 
thought,  disarmed  all  animadversion.  But  the  scholars  of  the 
Pisani,  as  usual,  caricatured  when  they  were  unable  to  invent  ; 
and  the  quiet  curtained  canopy  became  a  huge  marble  tent, 
with  a  pole  in  the  centre  of  it.  Thus  vulgarised,  the  idea 
itself  soon  disappeared,  to  make  room  for  urns,  torches,  and 
weepers,  and  the  other  modern  paraphernalia  of  the  church- 
yard. 

§  viii.  3.  Shipping.  I  have  allowed  this  kind  of  subject  to 
form  a  separate  head,  owing  to  the  importance  of  rostra  in 
Roman  decoration,  and  to  the  continual  occurrence  of  naval 
subjects  in  modern  monumental  bas-relief.  Mr.  Fergusson 
says,  somewhat  doubtfully,  that  he  perceives  a  "  kind  of 
beauty  H  in  a  ship  :  I  say,  without  any  manner  of  doubt,  that 
a  ship  is  one  of  the  loveliest  things  man  ever  made,  and  one  of 
the  noblest ;  nor  do  I  know  any  lines,  out  of  divine  work,  so 
lovely  as  those  of  the  head  of  a  ship,  or  even  as  the  sweep  of 
the  timbers  of  a  small  boat,  not  a  race  boat,  a  mere  floating 
chisel,  but  a  broad,  strong,  sea  boat,  able  to  breast  a  wave  and 
break  it :  and  yet,  with  all  this  beauty,  ships  cannot  be  made 
subjects  of  sculpture.  No  one  pauses  in  particular  delight 
beneath  the  pediments  of  the  Admiralty  ;  nor  does  scenery  of 
shipping  ever  become  prominent  in  bas-relief  without  destroy- 
ing it :  witness  the  base  of  the  Nelson  pillar.  It  may  be,  and 
must  be  sometimes,  introduced  in  severe  subordination  to  the  ^ 


216 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


figure  subject,  but  just  enough  to  indicate  the  scene  ;  sketched 
m  the  lightest  lines  on  the  background  ;  never  with  any  at- 
tempt at  realisation,  never  with  any  equality  to  the  force  of 
the  figures,  unless  the  whole  purpose  of  the  subject  be  pictu- 
resque. I  shall  explain  this  exception  presently,  in  speaking 
of"  imitative  architecture. 

§  ix.  There  is  one  piece  of  a  ship's  fittings,  however,  which 
may  be  thought  to  have  obtained  acceptance  as  a  constant 
element  of  architectural  ornament, — the  cable  :  it  is  not,  how- 
ever, the  cable  itself,  but  its  abstract  form,  a  group  of  twisted 
lines  (which  a  cable  only  exhibits  in  common  with  many  natu- 
ral objects),  which  is  indeed  beautiful  as  an  ornament.  Make 
the  resemblance  complete,  give  to  the  stone  the  threads  and 
character  of  the  cable,  and  you  may,  perhaps,  regard  the 
sculpture  with  curiosity,  but  never  more  with  admiration. 
Consider  the  effect  of  the  base  of  the  statue  of  King  William 
IV.  at  the  end  of  London  Bridge. 

§  x.  4.  Architecture  itself.  The  erroneous  use  of  armor,  or 
dresSj  or  instruments,  or  shipping,  as  decorative  subject,  is 
almost  exclusively  confined  to  bad  architecture — Boman  or 
Kenaissance.  But  the  false  use  of  architecture  itself,  as  an 
ornament  of  architecture,  is  conspicuous  even  in  the  mediaeval 
work  of  the  best  times,  and  is  a  grievous  fault  in  some  of  its 
noblest  examples. 

It  is,  therefore,  of  great  importance  to  note  exactly  at  what 
point  this  abuse  begins,  and  in  what  it  consists. 

§  xi.  In  all  bas-relief,  architecture  may  be  introduced  as  an 
explanation  of  the  scene  in  which  the  figures  act ;  but  with 
more  or  less  prominence  in  the  inverse  ratio  of  the  importance 
of  the  figures. 

The  metaphysical  reason  of  this  is,  that  where  the  figures 
are  of  great  value  and  beauty,  the  mind  is  supposed  to  be  en- 
gaged wholly  with  them  ;  and  it  is  an  impertinence  to  disturb 
its  contemplation  of  them  by  any  minor  features  whatever. 
As  the  figures  become  of  less  value,  and  are  regarded  with  less 
intensity,  accessory  subjects  may  be  introduced,  such  as  the 
thoughts  may  have  leisure  for. 

Thus,  if  the  figures  be  as  large  as  life,  and  complete  statues* 


THE  MATERIAL  OF  ORNAMENT. 


217 


it  is  gross  vulgarity  to  carve  a  temple  above  them,  or  distribute 
them  over  sculptured  rocks,  or  lead  them  up  steps  into  pyra- 
mids :  I  need  hardly  instance  Canova's  works,*  and  the  Dutch 
pulpit  groups,  with  fishermen,  boats,  and  nets,  in  the  midst 
of  church  naves. 

If  the  figures  be  in  bas-relief,  though  as  large  as  life,  the 
scene  may  be  explained  by  lightly  traced  outlines  :  this  is  ad- 
mirably done  in  the  Ninevite  marbles. 

If  the  figures  be  in  bas-relief,  or  even  alto-relievo,  but  less 
than  life,  and  if  their  purpose  is  rather  to  enrich  a  space  and 
produce  picturesque  shadows,  than  to  draw  the  thoughts  en- 
tirely to  themselves,  the  scenery  in  which  they  act  may  become 
prominent.  The  most  exquisite  examples  of  this  treatment  are 
the  gates  of  Ghiberti.  What  would  that  Madonna  of  the  An- 
nunciation be,  without  the  little  shrine  into  which  she  shrinks 
back  ?  But  all  mediaeval  work  is  full  of  delightful  examples 
of  the  same  kind  of  treatment  :  the  gates  of  hell  and  of  para- 
dise are  important  pieces,  both  of  explanation  and  effect,  in 
all  early  representations  of  the  last  judgment,  or  of  the  de- 
scent into  Hades.  The  keys  of  St.  Peter,  and  the  crushing 
flat  of  the  devil  under  his  own  door,  when  it  is  beaten  in, 
would  hardly  be  understood  without  the  respective  gateways 
above.  The  best  of  all  the  later  capitals  of  the  Ducal  Palace 
of  Venice  depends  for  great  part  of  its  value  on  the  richness 
of  a  small  campanile,  which  is  pointed  to  proudly  by  a  small 
emperor  in  a  turned-up  hat,  who,  the  legend  informs  us,  is 
"Nunia  Pompilio,  imperador,  edificliador  di  tempi  e  chiese." 

§  xii.  Shipping  may  be  introduced,  or  rich  fancy  of  vest- 
ments, crowns,  and  ornaments,  exactly  on  the  same  conditions 
as  architecture  ;  and  if  the  reader  will  look  back  to  my  defi- 
nition of  the  picturesque  in  the  "  Seven  Lamps,"  he  will  see 
why  I  said,  above,  that  they  might  only  be  prominent  when  the 
purpose  of  the  subject  was  partly  picturesque  ;  that  is  to  say, 
when  the  mind  is  intended  to  derive  part  of  its  enjoyment 
from  the  parasitical  qualities  and  accidents  of  the  thing,  not 
from  the  heart  of  the  thing  itself. 

*  The  admiration  of  Canoval  hold  to  be  one  of  the  most  deadly  symp- 
toms in  the  civilisation  of  the  upper  classes  in  the  present  century. 


21S 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE, 


And  thus,  while  we  must  regret  the  flapping  sails  in  thfl 
death  of  Nelson  in  Trafalgar  Square,  we  may  yet  most  heartily 
enjoy  the  sculpture  of  a  storm  in  one  of  the  bas  reliefs  of  the 
tomb  of  St.  Pietro  Martire  in  the  church  of  St.  Eustorgio  at 
Milan,  where  the  grouping  of  the  figures  is  most  fancifully 
complicated  by  the  under-cut  cordage  of  the  vessel. 

§  xni.  In  all  these  instances,  however,  observe  that  the  per- 
mission to  represent  the  human  work  as  an  ornament,  is  con- 
ditional on  its  being  necessary  to  the  representation  of  a 
scene,  or  explanation  of  an  action.  On  no  terms  whatever 
could  any  such  subject  be  independently  admissible. 

Observe,  therefore,  the  use  of  manufacture  as  ornament  is — 

1.  With  heroic  figure  sculpture,  not  admissible  at  all. 

2.  With  picturesque  figure  sculpture,  admissible  in  the  de- 

gree of  its  picturesqueness. 

3.  Without  figure  sculpture,  not  admissible  at  all. 

So  also  in  painting :  Michael  Angelo,  in  the  Sistine  Chapel, 
would  not  have  willingly  painted  a  dress  of  figured  damask  or 
of  watered  satin  ;  his  was  heroic  painting,  not  admitting  ac- 
cessories. 

Tintoret,  Titian,  Veronese,  Eubens,  and  Vandyck,  would 
be  very  sorry  to  part  with  their  figured  stuffs  and  lustrous 
silks  ;  and  sorry,  observe,  exactly  in  the  degree  of  their  pict- 
uresque feeling.  Should  not  ive  also  be  sorry  to  have  Bishop 
Ambrose  without  his  vest,  in  that  picture  of  the  National  Gal- 
lery? 

But  I  think  Vandyck  would  not  have  liked,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  vest  without  the  bishop.  I  much  doubt  if  Titian  or 
Veronese  would  have  enjoyed  going  into  Waterloo  House,  and 
making  studies  of  dresses  upon  the  counter. 

§  xiv.  So,  therefore,  finally,  neither  architecture  nor  any 
other  human  work  is  admissible  as  an  ornament,  except  in 
subordination  to  figure  subject.  And  this  law  is  grossly  and 
painfully  violated  by  those  curious  examples  of  Gothic,  both 
early  and  late,  in  the  north,  (but  late,  I  think,  exclusively,  in 
Italy,)  in  which  the  minor  features  of  the  architecture  wera 


THE  MATERIAL  OF  ORNAMENT. 


219 


co  Bposed  of  small  models  of  the  larger  :  examples  which  led 
the  way  to  a  series  of  abuses  materially  affecting  the  life, 
strength,  and  nobleness  of  the  Northern  Gothic, — abuses 
which  no  Ninevite,  nor  Egyptian,  nor  Greek,  nor  Byzantine, 
nor  Italian  of  the  earlier  ages  would  have  endured  for  an  in- 
stant, and  which  strike  me  with  renewed  surprise  whenever 
I  pass  beneath  a  portal  of  thirteenth  century  Northern 
Gothic,  associated  as  they  are  wTith  manifestations  of  exqui- 
site feeling  and  power  in  other  directions.  The  porches  of 
Bourges,  Amiens,  Notre  Dame  of  Paris,  and  Notre  Dame  of 
Dijon,  may  be  noted  as  conspicuous  in  error :  small  models 
of  feudal  towers  with  diminutive  windows  and  battlements, 
of  cathedral  spires  with  scaly  pinnacles,  mixed  with  temple 
pediments  and  nondescript  edifices  of  every  kind,  are  crowded 
together  over  the  recess  of  the  niche  into  a  confused  fool's 
cap  for  the  saint  below.  Italian  Gothic  is  almost  entirely 
free  from  the  taint  of  this  barbarism  until  the  Benaissance 
period,  when  it  becomes  rampant  in  the  cathedral  of  Como 
and  Certosa  of  Pavia  ;  and  at  Venice  we  find  the  Benaissance 
churches  decorated  with  models  of  fortifications  like  those  in 
the  repository  at  "Woolwich,  or  inlaid  with  mock  arcades  in 
pseudo-perspective,  copied  from  gardeners'  paintings  at  the 
ends  of  conservatories. 

§  xv.  I  conclude,  then,  with  the  reader's  leave,  that  all 
ornament  is  base  which  takes  for  its  subject  human  work, 
that  it  is  utterly  base, — painful  to  every  rightly-toned  mind, 
without  perhaps  immediate  sense  of  the  reason,  but  for  a 
reason  palpable  enough  when  we  do  think  of  it.  For  to  carve 
our  own  work,  and  set  it  up  for  admiration,  is  a  miserable 
self-complacency,  a  contentment  in  our  own  wretched  doings, 
when  we  might  have  been  looking  at  God's  doings.  And  all 
noble  ornament  is  the  exact  reverse  of  this.  It  is  the  expres- 
sion of  man's  delight  in  God's  work. 

§  xvi.  For  observe,  the  function  of  ornament  is  to  make 
you  happy.  Now  in  what  are  you  rightly  hap23y?  Not  in 
thinking  of  what  you  have  done  yourself  ;  not  in  your  own 
pride,  not  your  own  birth  ;  not  in  your  own  being,  or  your 
own  will,  but  in  looking  at  God  ;  watching  what  He  does* 


220 


THE  STONES  OF  VENIC3. 


what  He  is  ;  and  obeying  His  law,  and  yielding  yourself  ta 
His  will. 

You  are  to  be  made  happy  by  ornaments  ;  therefore  they 
must  be  the  expression  of  all  this.  Not  copies  of  your  own 
handiwork  ;  not  boastings  of  your  own  grandeur  ;  not  herald- 
ries ;  not  king's  arms,  nor  any  creature's  arms,  but  God's  arm2 
seen  in  His  work.  Not  manifestation  of  your  delight  in  your 
own  laws,  or  your  own  liberties,  or  your  own  inventions  ;  but 
in  divine  laws,  constant,  daily,  common  laws  ; — not  Composite 
laws,  nor  Doric  laws,  nor  laws  of  the  five  orders,  but  of  the 
Ten  Commandments. 

§  xvii.  Then  the  proper  material  of  ornament  will  be  what- 
ever God  has  created  ;  and  its  proper  treatment,  that  wrhich 
seems  in  accordance  with  or  symbolical  of  His  laws.  And,  for 
material,  we  shall  therefore  have,  first,  the  abstract  lines 
wrhich  are  most  frequent  in  nature  ;  and  then,  from  lower  to 
higher,  the  whole  range  of  systematised  inorganic  and  organic 
forms.  We  shall  rapidly  glance  in  order  at  their  kinds  ;  and, 
however  absurd  the  elemental  division  of  inorganic  matter  by 
the  ancients  may  seem  to  the  modern  chemist,  it  is  one  so 
grand  and  simple  for  arrangements  of  external  appearances, 
that  I  shall  here  follow  it ;  noticing  first,  after  abstract  lines, 
the  imitable  forms  of  the  four  elements,  of  Earth,  Water, 
Fire,  and  Air,  and  then  those  of  animal  organisms.  It  may 
be  convenient  to  the  reader  to  have  the  order  stated  in  a 
clear  succession  at  first,  thus  : — > 

1.  Abstract  lines. 

2.  Forms  of  Earth  (Crystals). 

3.  Forms  of  Water  (Waves). 

4  Forms  of  Fire  (Flames  and  Rays). 

5.  Forms  of  Air  (Clouds). 

6.  (Organic  forms.)  Shells. 

7.  Fish. 

8.  Reptiles  and  insects. 

0.  Vegetation  (A.)    Stems  and  Trunks, 

10.  Vegetation  (B. )  Foliage. 

11.  Birds. 

12.  Mammalian  animals  and  Man, 


THE  MATERIAL  OF  ORNAMENT. 


221 


It  may  be  objected  that  clouds  are  a  form  of  moisture,  not 
cf  air.  Tliey  are,  however,  a  perfect  expression  of  aerial  states 
and  currents,  and  may  sufficiently  well  stand  for  the  element 
they  move  in.  And  I  have  put  vegetation  aj>parently  some- 
what out  of  its  place,  owing  to  its  vast  importance  as  a  means 
of  decoration,  and  its  constant  association  with  birds  and  men= 

§  xvm.  1.  Abstract  lines.  I  have  not  with  lines  named 
also  shades  and  colors,  for  this  evident  reason,  that  there  are 
no  such  things  as  abstract  shadows,  irrespective  of  the  forms 
which  exhibit  them,  and  distinguished  in  their  own  nature 
from  each  other ;  and  that  the  arrangement  of  shadows,  in 
greater  or  less  quantity,  or  in  certain  harmonical  successions, 
is  an  affair  of  treatment,  not  of  selection.  And  when  we  use 
abstract  colors,  we  are  in  fact  using  a  part  of  nature  herself, 
— using  a  quality  of  her  light,  correspondent  with  that  of  the 
air,  to  carry  sound  ;  and  the  arrangement  of  color  in  harmo- 
nious masses  is  again  a  matter  of  treatment,  not  selection. 
Yet  even  in  this  separate  art  of  coloring,  as  referred  to  archi- 
tecture, it  is  very  notable  that  the  best  tints  are  always  those 
of  natural  stones.  These  can.  hardly  be  wrong ;  I  think  I 
never  yet  saw  an  offensive  introduction  of  the  natural  colors  of 
marble  and  precious  stones,  unless  in  small  mosaics,  and  in  one 
or  two  glaring  instances  of  the  resolute  determination  to  pro- 
duce something  ugly  at  any  cost.  On  the  other  hand,  I  have 
most  assuredly  never  yet  seen  a  painted  building,  ancient  or 
modern,  which  seemed  to  me  quite  right. 

§  xix.  Our  first  constituents  of  ornament  will  therefore  be 
abstract  lines,  that  is  to  say,  the  most  frequent  contours  of 
natural  objects,  transferred  to  architectural  forms  when  it  is 
not  right  or  possible  to  render  such  forms  distinctly  imitative. 
For  instance,  the  line  or  curve  of  the  edge  of  a  leaf  may  be 
accurately  given  to  the  edge  of  a  stone,  without  rendering  the 
stone  in  the  least  like  a- leaf,  or  suggestive  of  a  leaf  ;  and  this 
the  more  fully,  because  the  lines  of  nature  are  alike  in  all  her 
works  ;  simpler  or  richer  in  combination,  but  the  same  in 
character  ;  and  when  they  are  taken  out  of  their  combinations 
it  is  impossible  to  say  from  which  of  her  works  they  have  been 
borrowed,  their  universal  property  being  that  of  ever-varying 


222 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


curvature  in  the  most  subtle  and  subdued  transitions,  witb 
peculiar  expressions  of  motion,  elasticity,  or  dependence,  which 
I  have  already  insisted  upon  at  some  length  in  the  chapters  on 
typical  beauty  in  "Modern  Painters."  But,  that  the  reader 
may  here  be  able  to  compare  them  for  himself  as  deduced  from 
different  sources,  I  have  drawn,  as  accurately  as  I  can,  on  the 
opposite  plate,  some  ten  or  eleven  lines  from  natural  forms  of 
very  different  substances  and  scale  :  the  first,  a  b,  is  in  the  orig- 
inal, I  think,  the  most  beautiful  simple  curve  I  have  ever  seen 
in  my  life  ;  it  is  a  curve  about  three  quarters  of  a  mile  long, 
formed  by  the  surface  of  a  small  glacier  of  the  second  order, 
on  a  spur  of  the  Aiguille  de  Blaitiere  (Chamouni).  I  have 
merely  outlined  the  crags  on  the  right  of  it,  to  show  their 
sympathy  and  united  action  with  the  curve  of  the  glacier, 
which  is  of  course  entirely  dependent  on  their  opposition  to 
its  descent ;  softened,  however,  into  unity  by  the  snow,  which 
rarely  melts  on  this  high  glacier  surface. 

The  line  d  c  is  some  mile  and  a  half  or  two  miles  long ;  it  is 
part  of  the  flank  of  the  chain  of  the  Dent  d'Oche  above  the 
lake  of  Geneva,  one  or  two  of  the  lines  of  the  higher  and  more 
distant  ranges  being  given  in  combination  with  it. 

h  is  a  line  about  four  feet  long,  a  branch  of  spruce  fir.  I 
have  taken  this  tree  because  it  is  commonly  supposed  to  be 
stiff  and  ungraceful ;  its  outer  sprays  are,  however,  more  noble 
in  their  sweep  than  almost  any  that  I  know :  but  this  fragment 
is  seen  at  great  disadvantage,  because  placed  upside  down,  in 
order  that  the  reader  may  compare  its  curvatures  with  c  d,  eg, 
and  i  k,  which  are  all  mountain  lines  ;  e  g,  about  five  hundred 
feet  of  the  southern  edge  of  the  Matterhorn  ;  i  k,  the  entire 
slope  of  the  Aiguille  Bouchard,  from  its  summit  into  the  valley 
of  Chamouni,  a  line  some  three  miles  long  ;  I  m  is  the  line  of 
the  side  of  a  willow  leaf  traced  by  laying  the  leaf  on  the  paper  ; 
n  o,  one  of  the  innumerable  groups  of  curves  at  the  lip  of  a 
paper  Nautilus  ;  p,  a  spiral,  traced  on  the  paper  round  a  Ser- 
pula  ;  q  r,  the  leaf  of  the  Alisma  Plantago  with  its  interior 
ribs,  real  size  ;  s  t,  the  side  of  a  bay-leaf ;  u  w}  of  a  salvia  leaf  .* 
and  it  is  to  be  carefully  noted  that  these  last  curves,  being 
never  intended  by  nature  to  be  seen  singly,  are  more  heavy 


THE  MATERIAL  OF  ORNAMENT 


223 


and  less  agreeable  than  any  of  the  others  which  would  be  seen 
as  independent  lines.  But  all  agree  in  their  character  of 
changeful  curvature,  the  mountain  and  glacier  lines  only  ex- 
celling the  rest  in  delicacy  and  richness  of  transition. 

§  xx.  Why  lines  of  this  kind  are  beautiful,  I  endeavored  to 
show  in  the  "Modern  Painters;"  but  one  point,  there  omitted, 
may  be  mentioned  here, — that  almost  all  these  lines  are  ex- 
pressive  of  action  of  force  of  some  kind,  while  the  circle  is  a 
Hue  of  limitation  or  support.  In  leafage  they  mark  the  forces 
of  its  growth  and  expansion,  but  some  among  the  most  beau- 
tiful of  them  are  described  by  bodies  variously  in  motion,  or 
subjected  to  force  ;  as  by  projectiles  in  the  air,  by  the  par- 
ticles of  water  in  a  gentle  current,  by  planets  in  motion  in  an 
orbit,  by  their  satellites,  if  the  actual  path  of  the  satellite  in 
space  be  considered  instead  of  its  relation  to  the  planet ;  by 
boats,  or  birds,  turning  in  the  water  or  air,  by  clouds  in  vari- 
ous action  upon  the  wind,  by  sails  in  the  curvatures  they  as- 
sume under  its  force,  and  by  thousands  of  other  objects  mov- 
ing or  bearing  force.  In  the  Alisma  leaf,  q  7%  the  lines  through 
its  body,  which  are  of  peculiar  beauty,  mark  the  different  ex- 
pansions of  its  fibres,  and  are,  I  think,  exactly  the  same  as 
those  which  would  be  traced  by  the  currents  of  a  river  enter- 
ing a  lake  of  the  shape  of  the  leaf,  at  the  end  where  the  stalk 
is,  and  passing  out  at  its  point.  Circular  curves,  on  the  con- 
trary, are  always,  I  think,  curves  of  limitation  or  support ;  that 
is  to  say,  curves  of  perfect  rest.  The  cylindrical  curve  round 
the  stem  of  a  plant  binds  its  fibres  together  ;  while  the  ascent 
of  the  stem  is  in  lines  of  various  curvature  :  so  the  curve  of  the 
horizon  and  of  the  apparent  heaven,  of  the  rainbow,  etc. :  and 
though  the  reader  might  imagine  that  the  circular  orbit  of  any 
moving  body,  or  the  curve  described  by  a  sling,  was  a  curve 
of  motion,  he  should  observe  that  the  circular  character  is 
given  to  the  curve  not  by  the  motion,  but  by  the  confinement : 
the  circle  is  the  consequence  not  of  the  energy  of  the  body, 
but  of  its  being  forbidden  to  leave  the  centre  ;  and  whenever 
the  whirling  or  circular  motion  can  be  fully  impressed  on  it 
we  obtain  instant  balance  and  rest  with  respect  to  the  centre 
of  the  circle. 


224 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


Hence  the  peculiar  fitness  of  the  circular  curve  as  a  sign  of 
rest,  and  security  of  support,  in  arches  ;  while  the  other  curves, 
belonging  especially  to  action,  are  to  be  used  in  the  more  ac- 
tive architectural  features — the  hand  and  foot  (the  capital  and 
base),  and  in  all  minor  ornaments  ;  more  freely  in  proportion 
to  their  independence  of  structural  conditions. 

§  xxi.  We  need  not,  however,  hope  to  be  able  to  imitate,  in 
general  work,  any  of  the  subtly  combined  curvatures  of  nat- 
ure's highest  designing  :  on  the  contrary,  their  extreme  re- 
finement renders  them  unfit  for  coarse  service  or  material. 
Lines  which  are  lovely  in  the  pearly  film  of  the  Nautilus  shell, 
are  lost  in  the  grey  roughness  of  stone  ;  and  those  which  are 
sublime  in  the  blue  of  far  away  hills,  are  weak  in  the  sub- 
stance of  incumbent  marble.  Of  all  the  graceful  lines  assem- 
bled on  Plate  VII.,  we  shall  do  well  to  be  content  with  two  of 
the  simplest.  "We  shall  take  one  mountain  line  (e  g)  and  one 
leaf  line  (u  w),  or  rather  fragments  of  them,  for  we  shall  per- 
haps not  want  them  all.  I  will  mark  off  from  u  id  the  little 
bit  x  y,  and  from  e  g  the  piece  ef;  both  which  appear  to  me 
likely  to  be  serviceable  :  and  if  hereafter  we  need  the  help  of 
any  abstract  lines,  we  will  see  what  we  can  do  with  these  only. 

§  xxii.  2.  Forms  of  Earth  (Crystals).  It  may  be  asked  why 
I  do  not  say  rocks  or  mountains  ?  Simply,  because  the  no- 
bility of  these  depends,  first,  on  their  scale,  and,  secondly,  on 
accident.  Their  scale  cannot  be  represented,  nor  their  acci- 
dent systematised.  No  sculptor  can  in  the  least  imitate  the 
peculiar  character  of  accidental  fracture  :  he  can  obey  or  ex- 
hibit the  laws  of  nature,  but  he  cannot  copy  the  felicity  of 
her  fancies,  nor  follow  the  steps  of  her  fury.  The  very  glory 
of  a  mountain  is  in  the  revolutions  which  raised  it  into  power, 
and  the  forces  which  are  striking  it  into  ruin.  But  we  want 
no  cold  and  careful  imitation  of  catastrophe  ;  no  calculated 
mockery  of  convulsion  ;  no  delicate  recommendation  of  ruin. 
We  are  to  follow  the  labor  of  Nature,  but  not  her  disturb- 
ance ;  to  imitate  what  she  has  deliberately  ordained,*  not 

*  Thus  above,  I  adduced  for  the  architect's  imitation  the  appointed 
stories  and  beds  of  the  Matterhorn,  not  its  irregular  forms  of  crag  or  fib 
sure. 


THE  MATERIAL  OF  ORNAMENT. 


225 


what  she  has  violently  suffered,  or  strangely  permitted.  The 
only  uses,  therefore,  of  rock  form  which  are  wise  in  the  archi- 
tect, are  its  actual  introduction  (by  leaving  untouched  such 
blocks  as  are  meant  for  rough  service),  and  that  noble  use  of 
the  general  examples  of  mountain  structure  of  which  I  have 
often  heretofore  spoken.  Imitations  of  rock  form  have,  for 
the  most  part,  been  confined  to  periods  of  degraded  feeling  and 
to  architectural  toys  or  pieces  of  dramatic  effect, — the  Calva- 
ries and  holy  sepulchres  of  Romanism,  or  the  grottoes  and 
fountains  of  English  gardens.  They  were,  however,  not  un- 
f  requent  in  mediaeval  bas-reliefs ;  very  curiously  and  elaborately 
treated  by  Ghiberti  on  the  doors  of  Florence,  and  in  religious 
sculpture  necessarily  introduced  wherever  the  life  of  the  anch- 
orite was  to  be  expressed.  They  were  rarely  introduced  as 
of  ornamental  character,  but  for  particular  service  and  expres- 
sion ;  we  shall  see  an  interesting  example  in  the  Ducal  Palace 
at  Venice. 

§  xxm.  But  against  crystalline  form,  which  is  the  com- 
pletely systematised  natural  structure  of  the  earth,  none  of 
these  objections  hold  good,  and,  accordingly,  it  is  an  endless 
element  of  decoration,  where  higher  conditions  of  structure 
cannot  be  represented.  The  four-sided  pyramid,  perhaps  the 
most  frequent  of  all  natural  crystals,  is  called  in  architecture 
a  dogtooth  ;  its  use  is  quite  limitless,  and  always  beautiful  : 
the  cube  and  rhomb  are  almost  equally  frequent  in  chequers 
and  dentils  ;  and  all  mouldings  of  the  middle  Gothic  are  little 
more  than  representations  of  the  canaliculated  crystals  of  the 
beryl,  and  such  other  minerals  : 

§  xxiv.  Not  knowingly.  I  do  not  suppose  a  [single  hint 
was  ever  actually  taken  from  mineral  form  ;  not  even  by  tha 
Arabs  in  their  stalactite  pendants  and  vaults  :  all  that  I  mean 
to  allege  is,  that  beautiful  ornament,  wherever  found,  or  how- 
ever invented,  is  always  either  an  intentional  or  unintentional 
copy  of  some  constant  natural  form  ;  and  that  in  this  particu- 
lar instance,  the  pleasure  wTe  have  in  these  geometrical  figures 
of  our  own  invention,  is  dependent  for  all  its  acuteness  on  the 
natural  tendency  impressed  on  us  by  our  Creator  to  love  the 
forms  into  which  the  earth  He  gave  us  to  tread,  and  out  of 
Vol.  I. — 15 


220 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


which  He  formed  our  bodies,  knit  itself  as  it  was  separated 
from  the  deep. 

§  xxv.  3.  Forms  of  Water  (Waves). 

The  reasons  which  prevent  rocks  from  being  used  for  orna- 
ment repress  still  more  forcibly  the  portraiture  of  the  sea. 
Yet  the  constant  necessity  of  introducing  some  representation 
of  water  in  order  to  explain  the  scene  of  events,  or  as  a  sacred 
symbol,  has  forced  the  sculptors  of  all  ages  to  the  invention  of 
some  type  or  letter  for  it,  if  not  an  actual  imitation.  We 
find  every  degree  of  conventionalism  or  of  naturalism  in  these 
types,  the  earlier  being,  for  the  most  part,  thoughtful  sym- 
bols ;  the  latter,  awkward  attempts  at  portraiture.*  The 
most  conventional  of  all  types  is  the  Egyptian  zigzag,  pre- 
served in  the  astronomical  sign  of  Aquarius  ;  but  every  na- 
tion, with  any  capacities  of  thought,  has  given,  in  some  of  its 
work,  the  same  great  definition  of  open  water,  as  "an  undula- 
tory  thing  with  fish  in  it"  I  say  open  water,  because  inland 
nations  have  a  totally  different  conception  of  the  element. 
Imagine  for  an  instant  the  different  feelings  of  an  husband- 
man whose  hut  is  built  by  the  Khine  or  the  Po,  and  who 
sees,  day  by  day,  the  same  giddy  succession  of  silent  power, 
the  same  opaque,  thick,  whirling,  irresistible  labyrinth  of 
rushing  lines  and  twisted  eddies,  coiling  themselves  into  ser- 
pentine race  by  the  reedy  banks,  in  omne  volubilis  aevum, — 
and  the  image  of  the  sea  in  the  mind  of  the  fisher  upon  the 
rocks  of  Ithaca,  or  by  the  Straits  of  Sicily,  who  sees  how,  day 
by  day,  the  morning  winds  come  coursing  to  the  shore,  every 
breath  of  them  with  a  green  wave  rearing  before  it ;  clear, 
crisp,  ringing,  merry-minded  waves,  that  fall  over  and  over 
each  other,  laughing  like  children  as  they  near  the  beach,  and 
at  last  clash  themselves  all  into  dust  of  crystal  over  the  daz- 
zling sweeps  of  sand.  Fancy  the  difference  of  the  image  of 
water  in  those  two  minds,  and  then  compare  the  sculpture  of 
the  coiling  eddies  of  the  Tigris  and  its  reedy  branches  in 
those  slabs  of  Nineveh,  with  the  crested  curls  of  the  Greek 
sea  on  the  coins  of  Camerina  or  Tarentum.  But  both  agree 
in  the  undulatory  lines,  either  of  the  currents  or  the  surface, 
*  Appendix  21,  U  Ancient  Representations  of  Water." 


THE  MATERIAL  OF  ORNAMENT. 


227 


and  in  the  introduction  of  fish  as  explanatory  of  the  meaning 
of  those  lines  (so  also  the  Egyptians  in  their  frescoes,  with 
most  elaborate  realisation  of  the  fish).  There  is  a  very  curi- 
ous instance  on  a  Greek  mirror  in  the  British  Museum,  rep- 
resenting Orion  on  the  Sea  ;  and  multitudes  of  examples  with 
dolphins  on  the  Greek  vases  :  the  type  is  preserved  without 
alteration  in  mediaeval  painting  and  sculpture.  The  sea  in 
that  Greek  mirror  (at  least  400  B.C.),  in  the  mosaics  of  Tor- 
cello  and  St.  Mark's,  on  the  front  of  St.  Frediano  at  Lucca,  on 
the  gate  of  the  fortress  of  St.  Michael's  Mount  in  Normandy, 
on  the  Bayeux  tapestry,  and  on  the  capitals  of  the  Ducal 
Palace  at  Venice  (under  Arion  on  his  Dolphin),  is  represented 
in  a  manner  absolutely  identical.  Giotto,  in  the  frescoes  of 
Avignon,  has,  xtith  his  usual  strong  feeling  for  naturalism, 
given  the  best  example  I  remember,  in  painting,  of  the  unity 
of  the  conventional  system  with  direct  imitation,  and  that 
both  in  sea  and  river  ;  giving  in  pure  blue  color  the  coiling 
whirlpool  of  the  stream,  and  the  curled  crest  of  the  breaker. 
But  in  all  early  sculptural  examples,  both  imitation  and  dec- 
orative effect  are  subordinate  to  easily  understood  symbolical 
language  ;  the  undulatory  lines  are  often  valuable  as  an  en- 
richment of  surface,  but  are  rarely  of  any  studied  graceful- 
ness. One  of  the  best  examples  I  know  of  their  expressive 
arrangement  is  around  some  figures  in  a  spandril  at  Bourges, 
representing  figures  sinking  in  deep  sea  (the  deluge)  :  the 
waved  lines  yield  beneath  the  bodies  and  wildly  lave  the  edge 
of  the  moulding,  two  birds,  as  if  to  mark  the  reverse  of  all 
order  of  nature,  lowest  of  all  sunk  in  the  depth  of  them.  In 
later  times  of  debasement,  water  began  to  be  represented  with 
its  waves,  foam,  etc.,  as  on  the  Vendramin  tomb  at  Venice, 
above  cited  ;  but  even  there,  without  any  definite  ornamental 
purpose,  the  sculptor  meant  partly  to  explain  a  story,  partly 
to  display  dexterity  of  chiselling,  but  not  to  produce  beauti- 
ful forms  pleasant  to  the  eye.  The  imitation  is  vapid  and 
joyless,  and  it  has  often  been  matter  of  surprise  to  me  that 
sculptors,  so  fond  of  exhibiting  their  skill,  should  have  suf- 
fered this  imitation  to  fall  so  short,  and  remain  so  cold, — 
should  not  have  taken  more  pains  to  curl  the  waves  clearly,  to 


228 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


edge  them  sharply,  and  to  express,  by  drillholes  or  other  ar- 
tifices, the  character  of  foam.  I  think  in  one  of  the  Antwerp 
churches  something  of  this  kind  is  done  in  wood,  but  in  gen- 
eral it  is  rare. 

§  xxvi.  4.  Forms  of  Fire  (Flames  and  Rays).  If  neither  the 
sea  nor  the  rock  can  be  imagined,  still  less  the  devouring  fire. 
It  has  been  symbolised  by  radiation  both  in  painting  and 
sculpture,  for  the  most  part  in  the  latter  very  unsuccessfully. 
It  was  suggested  to  me,  not  long  ago,*  that  zigzag  decorations 
of  Norman  architects  were  typical  of  light  springing  from  the 
half-set  orb  of  the  sun  ;  the  resemblance  to  the  ordinary  sun 
type  is  indeed  remarkable,  but  I  believe  accidental.  I  shall 
give  you,  in  my  large  plates,  two  curious  instances  of  radiation 
in  brick  ornament  above  arches,  but  I  think  these  also  without 
any  very  luminous  intention.  The  imitations  of  fire  in  the 
torches  of  Cupids  and  genii,  and  burning  in  tops  of  urns,  which 
attest  and  represent  the  mephitic  inspirations  of  the  seven- 
teenth century  in  most  London  churches,  and  in  monuments 
all  over  civilised  Europe,  together  with  the  gilded  rays  of  Ro- 
manist altars,  may  be  left  to  such  mercy  as  the  reader  is  in- 
clined to  show  them. 

§  xxvii.  5.  Forms  of  Air  (Clouds).  Hardly  more  manage- 
able than  flames,  and  of  no  ornamental  use,  their  majesty  being 
in  scale  and  color,  and  inimitable  in  marble.  They  are  lightly 
traced  in  much  of  the  cinque  cento  sculpture ;  very  boldly  and 
grandly  in  the  strange  Last  Judgment  in  the  porch  of  St. 
Maclou  at  Rouen,  described  in  the  ' '  Seven  Lamps."  But  the 
most  elaborate  imitations  are  altogether  of  recent  date,  ar- 
ranged in  concretions  like  flattened  sacks,  forty  or  fifty  feet 
above  the  altars  of  continental  churches,  mixed  with  the  gilded 
truncheons  intended  for  sunbeams  above  alluded  to. 

§  xxviii.  6.  Shells.  I  place  these  lowest  in  the  scale  (after 
inorganic  forms)  as  being  moulds  or  coats  of  organism  ;  not 
themselves  organic.  The  sense  of  this,  and  of  their  being 
mere  emptiness  and  deserted  houses,  must  always  prevent 
them,  however  beautiful  in  their  lines,  from  being  largely  used 
in  ornamentation.  It  is  better  to  take  the  line  and  leave  the 
*  By  the  friend  to  whom  I  owe  Appendix  21. 


THE  MATERIAL  OF  ORNAMENT. 


229 


shell  One  form,  indeed,  that  of  the  cockle,  has  been  in  all 
ages  used  as  the  decoration  of  half  domes,  which  were  named 
conchas  from  their  shell  form  :  and  I  believe  the  wrinkled  lip 
of  the  cockle,  so  used,  to  have  been  the  origin,  in  some  parts 
of  Europe  at  least,  of  the  exuberant  foliation  of  the  round 
arch.  The  scallop  also  is  a  pretty  radiant  form,  and  mingles 
well  with  other  symbols  when  it  is  needed.  The  crab  is  always 
as  delightful  as  a  grotesque,  for  here  we  suppose  the  beast  in- 
side the  shell ;  and  he  sustains  his  part  in  a  lively  manner 
among  the  other  signs  of  the  zodiac,  with  the  scorpion  ;  or 
scattered  upon  sculptured  shores,  as  beside  the  Bronze  Boar 
of  Florence.  We  shall  find  him  in  a  basket  at  Venice,  at  the 
base  of  one  of  the  Piazzetta  shafts. 

§  xxix.  7.  Fish.  These,  as  beautiful  in  their  forms  as  th.ey 
are  familiar  to  our  sight,  while  their  interest  is  increased  by 
their  symbolic  meaning,  are  of  great  value  as  material  of  orna- 
ment. Love  of  the  picturesque  has  generally  induced  a  choice 
of  some  supple  form  with  scaly  body  and  lashing  tail,  but  the 
simplest  fish  form  is  largely  employed  in  mediaeval  work.  We 
shall  find  the  plain  oval  body  and  sharp  head  of  the  Thunny 
constantly  at  Venice  ;  and  the  fish  used  in  the  expression  of 
sea-water,  or  water  generally,  are  always  plain  bodied  creat- 
ures in  the  best  mediaeval  sculpture.  The  Greek  type  of  the 
dolphin,  however,  sometimes  but  slightly  exaggerated  from 
the  real  outline  of  the  Delphinus  Delphis,*  is  one  of  the  most 
picturesque  of  animal  forms  ;  and  the  action  of  its  slow  revolv- 
ing plunge  is  admirably  caught  upon  the  surface  sea  repre- 
sented in  Greek  vases. 

§  xxx.  8.  Reptiles  and  Insects.  The  forms  of  the  serpent 
and  lizard  exhibit  almost  every  element  of  beauty  and  horror 
in  strange  combination  ;  the  horror,  which  in  an  imitation  is 
felt  only  as  a  pleasurable  excitement,  has  rendered  them  favor- 
ite subjects  in  all  periods  of  art ;  and  the  unity  of  both  lizard 

• 

*  One  is  glad  to  hear  from  Cuvier,  that  though  dolphins  in  general  are 
"  lesplus  carnassiers,  et  proportion  gardce  avec  lcurtaille,  les  plus  cruels 
de  l'ordre  ;  "  yet  that  in  the  Delphinus  Delphis,  "  tout  Torganisation  de 
son  cerveau  annonce  quyti  ne  doit  pas  etre  dijfoWtiu  de  la  docilite  qu'ils 
(les  anciens)  lui  attribuaient." 


230 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


and  serpent  in  the  ideal  dragon,  the  most  picturesque  and 
powerful  of  all  animal  forms,  and  of  peculiar  S3^mbolical  in- 
terest to  the  Christian  mind,  is  perhaps  the  principal  of  all  the 
materials  of  mediaeval  picturesque  sculpture.  By  the  best 
sculptors  it  is  always  used  with  this  symbolic  meaning,  by  the 
cinque  cento  sculptors  as  an  ornament  merely.  The  best  and 
most  natural  representations  of  mere  viper  or  snake  are  to  be 
found  interlaced  among  their  confused  groups  of  meaningless 
objects.  The  real  power  and  horror  of  the  snake-head  has, 
however,  been  rarely  reached.  I  shall  give  one  example  from 
Verona  of  the  twelfth  century. 

Other  less  powerful  reptile  forms  are  not  unfrequent. 
Small  frogs,  lizards,  and  snails  almost  always  enliven  the  fore- 
grounds and  leafage  of  good  sculpture.  The  tortoise  is  less 
usually  employed  in  groups.  Beetles  are  chiefly  mystic  and 
colossal.  Various  insects,  like  everything  else  in  the  world, 
occur  in  cinque  cento  work  ;  grasshoppers  most  frequently. 
We  shall  see  on  the  Ducal  Palace  at  Venice  an  interesting  use 
of  the  bee. 

§  xxxi.  9.  Branches  and  stems  of  Trees.  I  arrange  these 
under  a  separate  head  ;  because,  while  the  forms  of  leafage 
belong  to  all  architecture,  and  ought  to  be  employed  in  it 
always,  those  of  the  branch  and  stem  belong  to  a  peculiar 
imitative  and  luxuriant  architecture,  and  are  only  applicable 
at  times.  Pagan  sculptors  seem  to  have  perceived  little  beauty 
in  the  stems  of  trees  ;  they  were  little  else  than  timber  to 
them  ;  and  they  preferred  the  rigid  and  monstrous  trigiyph, 
or  the  fluted  column,  to  a  broken  bough  or  gnarled  trunk. 
But  with  Christian  knowledge  came  a  peculiar  regard  for  the 
forms  of  vegetation,  from  the  root  upwards.  The  actual  rep- 
resentation of  the  entire  trees  required  in  many  scripture  sub- 
jects,— as  in  the  most  frequent  of  Old  Testament  subjects,  the 
Fall ;  and  again  in  the  Drunkenness  of  Noah,  the  Garden 
Agony,  and  many  others,  familiarised  the  sculptors  of  bas- 
relief  to  the  beauty  of  forms  before  unknown  ;  while  the  sym- 
bolical name  given  to  Christ  by  the  Prophets,  "the  Branch/' 
and  the  frequent  expressions  referring  to  this  image  through- 
out every  scriptural  description  of  conversion,  gave  an  especial 


THE  MATERIAL  OF  ORNAMENT 


231 


interest  to  tlie  Christian  mind  to  this  portion  of  vegetative 
structure.  For  some  time,  nevertheless,  the  sculpture  of  trees 
was  confined  to  bas-relief  ;  but  it  at  last  affected  even  the  treat- 
ment of  the  main  shafts  in  Lombard  Gothic  buildings, — as  in 
the  western  facade  of  Genoa,  where  two  of  the  shafts  are  rep- 
resented as  gnarled  trunks  :  and  as  bas-relief  itself  became 
more  boldly  introduced,  so  did  tree  sculpture,  until  we  find 
the  writhed  and  knotted  stems  of  the  vine  and  fig  used  for 
angle  shafts  on  the  Doge's  Palace,  and  entire  oaks  and  apple- 
trees  forming,  roots  and  all,  the  principal  decorative  sculp- 
tures  of  the  Scala  tombs  at  Verona.  It  was  then  discovered 
to  be  more  easy  to  carve  branches  than  leaves ;  and,  much 
helped  by  the  frequent  employment  in  later  Gothic  of  the 
"Tree  of  Jesse/'  for  traceries  and  other  purposes,  the  system 
reached  full  development  in  a  perfect  thicket  of  twigs,  which 
form  the  richest  portion  of  the  decoration  of  the  porches  of 
Beauvais.  It  had  now  been  carried  to  its  richest  extreme  : 
men  wearied  of  it  and  abandoned  it,  and  like  all  other  natural 
and  beautiful  things,  it  was  ostracised  by  the  mob  of  Renais- 
sance architects.  But  it  is  interesting  to  observe  how  the 
human  mind,  in  its  acceptance  of  this  feature  of  ornament, 
proceeded  from  the  ground,  and  followed,  as  it  were,  the  nat- 
ural growth  of  the  tree.  It  began  with  the  rude  and  solid 
trunk,  as  at  Genoa  ;  then  the  branches  shot  out,  and  became 
loaded  leaves ;  autumn  came,  the  leaves  were  shed,  and  the 
eye  was  directed  to  the  extremities  of  the  delicate  branches ; 
— the  Renaissance  frosts  came,  and  all  perished. 

§  xxxii.  10.  Foliage,  Flowers,  and  Fruit.  It  is  necessary 
to  consider  these  as  separated  from  the  stems ;  not  only,  as 
above  noted,  because  their  separate  use  marks  another  school 
of  architecture,  but  because  they  are  the  only  organic  struct- 
ures which  are  capable  of  being  so  treated,  and  intended  to  be 
bo,  without  strong  effort  of  imagination.  To  pull  animals  to 
pieces,  and  use  their  paws  for  feet  of  furniture,  or  their  heads 
for  terminations  of  rods  and  shafts,  is  usually  the  characteris- 
tic of  feelingless  schools  ;  the  greatest  men  like  their  animals 
whole.  The  head  may,  indeed,  be  so  managed  as  to  look 
emergent  from  the  stone,  rather  than  fastened  to  it ;  and 


232 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


wherever  there  is  throughout  the  architecture  any  expression 
of  sternness  or  severity  (severity  in  its  literal  sense,  as  in 
Romans,  xi.  22),  such  divisions  of  the  living  form  may  be  per- 
mitted ;  still,  you  cannot  cut  an  animal  to  pieces  as  you  can 
gather  a  flower  or  a  leaf.  These  were  intended  for  our  gath- 
ering, and  for  our  constant  delight :  wherever  men  exist  in  a 
perfectly  civilised  and  healthy  state,  they  have  vegetation 
around  them  ;  wherever  their  state  approaches  that  of  inno- 
cence or  perfectness,  it  approaches  that  of  Paradise,  — it  is  a 
dressing  of  garden.  And,  therefore,  where  nothing  else  can 
be  used  for  ornament,  vegetation  may  ;  vegetation  in  any 
form,  however  fragmentary,  however  abstracted.  A  single 
leaf  laid  upon  the  angle  of  a  stone,  or  the  mere  form  or  frame- 
work of  the  leaf  drawn  upon  it,  or  the  mere  shadow  and  ghost 
of  the  leaf, — the  hollow  "foil"  cut  out  of  it, — possesses  s 
charm  which  nothing  else  can  replace  ;  a  charm  not  exciting, 
nor  demanding  laborious  thought  or  sympathy,  but  perfectly 
simple,  peaceful,  and  satisfying. 

§  xxxin.  The  full  recognition  of  leaf  forms,  as  the  general 
source  of  subordinate  decoration,  is  one  of  the  chief  charac- 
teristics of  Christian  architecture  ;  but  the  two  roots  of 
leaf  ornament  are  the  Greek  acanthus,  and  the  Egyptian 
lotus.  * 

The  dry  land  and  the  river  thus  each  contributed  their  part ; 
and  all  the  florid  capitals  of  the  richest  Northern  Gothic  on 
the  one  hand,  and  the  arrowy  lines  of  the  severe  Lombardic 
capitals  on  the  other,  are  founded  on  these  two  gifts  of  the 
dust  of  Greece  and  the  waves  of  the  Nile.  The  leaf  which  is, 
I  believe,  called  the  Persepolitan  water-leaf,  is  to  be  associated 
with  the  lotus  flower  and  stem,  as  the  origin  of  our  noblest 
types  of  simple  capital  ;  and  it  is  to  be  noted  that  the  florid 
leaves  of  the  dry  land  are  used  most  by  the  Northern  archie 

*  Vide  Wilkinson,  vol.  v.,  woodcut  No.  478,  fig.  8.  The  tamarisk  ap- 
pears afterwards  to  have  given  the  idea  of  a  subdivision  of  leaf  more 
pure  and  quaint  than  that  of  the  acanthus.  Of  late  our  botanists  have 
discovered,  in  the  "  Victoria  regia  "  (supposing  its  blossom  reversed),  an- 
other strangely  beautiful  type  of  what  we  may  perhaps  hereafter  find  it 
convenient  to  call  lAly  capitals. 


THE  MATERIAL  OF  ORNAMENT. 


233 


tects,  while  the  water  leaves  are  gathered  for  their  ornaments 
by  the  parched  builders  of  the  Desert. 

§  xxxiv.  Fruit  is,  for  the  most  part,  more  valuable  in  color 
than  form  ;  nothing  is  more  beautiful  as  a  subject  of  sculpture 
on  a  tree  ;  but,  gathered  and  put  in  baskets,  it  is  quite  possible 
to  have  too  much  of  it.  We  shall  find  it  so  used  very  dex- 
terously on  the  Ducal  Palace  of  Venice,  there  with  a  meaning 
which  rendered  it  right  necessary ;  but  the  Eenaissance  archi- 
tects address  themselves  to  spectators  who  care  for  nothing 
but  feasting,  and  suppose  that  clusters  of  pears  and  pineapples 
are  visions  of  which  their  imagination  can  never  weary,  and 
above  which  it  will  never  care  to  rise.  I  am  no  advocate  foi 
image  worship,  as  I  believe  the  reader  will  elsewhere  suffix 
ciently  find  ;  but  I  am  very  sure  that  the  Protestantism  ol 
London  would  have  found  itself  quite  as  secure  in  a  cathedral 
decorated  with  statues  of  good  men,  as  in  one  hung  round 
with  bunches  of  ribston  pippins. 

§  xxxv.  11.  Birds.  The  perfect  and  simple  grace  of  bird 
form,  in  general,  has  rendered  it  a  favorite  subject  with  early 
sculptors,  and  with  those  schools  which  loved  form  more  than 
action  ;  but  the  difficulty  of  expressing  action,  where  the  mus- 
cular markings  are  concealed,  has  limited  the  use  of  it  in  later 
art.  Half  the  ornament,  at  least,  in  Byzantine  architecture, 
and  a  third  of  that  of  Lombardic,  is  composed  of  birds,  either 
pecking  at  fruit  or  flowers,  or  standing  on  either  side  of  a 
flowrer  or  vase,  or  alone,  as  generally  the  symbolical  peacock. 
But  how  much  of  our  general  sense  of  grace  or  power  of 
motion,  of  serenity,  peacefulness,  and  spirituality,  we  owe  to 
these  creatures,  it  is  impossible  to  conceive  ;  their  wings  sup- 
plying us  with  almost  the  only  means  of  representation  of  spir- 
itual motion  which  we  possess,  and  with  an  ornamental  form  oi 
which  the  eye  is  never  weary,  however  meaninglessly  or  end- 
lessly repeated  ;  whether  in  utter  isolation,  or  associated  with 
the  bodies  of  the  lizard,  the  horse,  the  lion,  or  the  man.  The 
heads  of  the  birds  of  prey  are  always  beautiful,  and  used  as 
the  richest  ornaments  in  all  ages. 

§  xxxvi.  12.  Quadrupeds  and  Men.  Of  quadrupeds  the 
horse  has  received  an  elevation  into  the  primal  rank  of  sculps 


234 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


tural  subject,  owing  to  his  association  with  men.  The  full 
value  of  other  quadruped  forms  has  hardly  been  perceived,  or 
worked  for,  in  late  sculpture  ;  and  the  want  of  science  is  more 
felt  in  these  subjects  than  in  any  other  branches  of  early  work. 
The  greatest  richness  of  quadruped  ornament  is  found  in  the 
hunting  sculpture  of  the  Lombards  ;  but  rudely  treated  (the 
most  noble  examples  of  treatment  being  the  lions  of  Egypt, 
the  Ninevite  bulls,  and  the  mediaeval  griffins).  Quadrupeds 
of  course  form  the  noblest  subjects  of  ornament  next  to  the 
human  form  ;  this  latter,  the  chief  subject  of  sculpture,  being 
sometimes  the  end  of  architecture  rather  than  its  decoration. 

We  have  thus  completed  the  list  of  the  materials  of  archi- 
tectural decoration,  and  the  reader  may  be  assured  that  no 
effort  has  ever  been  successful  to  draw  elements  of  beauty  from 
any  other  sources  than  these.  Such  an  effort  was  once  reso- 
lutely made.  It  was  contrary  to  the  religion  of  the  Arab  to 
introduce  any  animal  form  into  his  'ornament ;  but  although 
all  the  radiance  of  color,  all  the  refinements  of  proportion,  and 
all  the  intricacies  of  geometrical  design  were  open  to  him,  he 
could  not  produce  any  noble  work  without  an  abstraction  of 
the  forms  of  leafage,  to  be  used  in  his  capitals,  and  made  the 
ground  plan  of  his  chased  ornament.  But  I  have  above  noted 
that  coloring  is  an  entirely  distinct  and  independent  art ;  and 
in  the  " Seven  Lamps"  we  saw  that  this  art  had  most  power 
when  practised  in  arrangements  of  simple  geometrical  form  *. 
the  Arab,  therefore,  lay  under  no  disadvantage  in  coloring, 
and  he  had  all  the  noble  elements  of  constructive  and  propor- 
tional beauty  at  his  command  :  he  might  not  imitate  the  sea- 
shell,  but  he  could  build  the  dome.  The  imitation  of  radiance 
by  the  variegated  voussoir,  the  expression  of  the  sweep  of  the 
desert  by  the  barred  red  lines  upon  the  wall,  the  starred  in- 
shedding  of  light  through  his  vaulted  roof,  and  all  the  endless 
fantasy  of  abstract  line,*  were  still  in  the  power  of  his  ardent 
and  fantastic  spirit.  Much  he  achieved  ;  and  yet  in  the  effort 
of  his  overtaxed  invention,  restrained  from  its  proper  food,  he 
made  his  architecture  a  glittering  vacillation  of  undisciplined 


*  Appendix  22,  "  Arabian  Ornamentation." 


TREATMENT  OF  ORNAMENT. 


235 


enchantment,  and  left  the  lustre  of  its  edifices  to  wither  like  a 
startling  dream,  whose  beauty  we  may  indeed  feel,  and  whose 
instruction  we  may  receive,  but  must  smile  at  its  inconsistency, 
and  mourn  over  its  evanescence. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

TREATMENT  OF  ORNAMENT. 

§  i.  We  now  know  where  we  are  to  look  for  subjects  of 
decoration.  The  next  question  is,  as  the  reader  must  remem- 
ber, how  to  treat  or  express  these  subjects. 

There  are  evidently  two  branches  of  treatment :  the  first 
being  the  expression,  or  rendering  to  the  eye  and  mind,  of 
the  thing  itself ;  and  the  second,  the  arrangement  of  the 
thing  so  expressed  :  both  of  these  being  quite  distinct  from 
the  placing  of  the  ornament  in  proper  parts  of  the  building. 
For  instance,  suppose  we  take  a  vine-leaf  for  our  subject. 
The  first  question  is,  how  to  cut  the  vine-leaf  ?  Shall  we  cu£ 
its  ribs  and  notches  on  the  edge,  or  only  its  general  outline  ? 
and  so  on.  Then,  how  to  arrange  the  vine-leaves  w7hen  we 
have  them  ;  whether  symmetrically,  or  at  random  ;  or  unsym- 
metrically,  yet  within  certain  limits?  All  these  I  call  ques- 
tions of  treatment.  Then,  whether  the  vine-leaves  so  arranged 
are  to  be  set  on  the  capital  of  a  pillar  or  on  its  shaft,  I  call  a 
question  of  place. 

§  n.  So,  then,  the  questions  of  mere  treatment  are  twofold, 
how  to  express,  and  how  to  arrange.  And  expression  is  to 
the  mind  or  the  sight.  Therefore,  the  inquiry  becomes  really 
threefold  : — 

1.  How  ornament  is  to  be  expressed  with  reference  to  the 
mind. 

2.  How  ornament  is  to  be  arranged  with  reference  to  the 
sight. 

3.  How  ornament  is  to  be  arranged  with  reference  to  both, 


236 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


§  m  (1.)  How  is  ornament  to  be  treated  with  reference  to 
the  mind? 

If,  to  produce  a  good  or  beautiful  ornament,  it  were  only 
necessary  to  produce  a  perfect  piece  of  sculpture,  and  if  a  well 
cut  group  of  flowers  or  animals  were  indeed  an  ornament 
wherever  it  might  be  placed,  the  work  of  the  architect  would 
be  comparatively  easy.  Sculpture  and  architecture  would  be- 
come separate  arts ;  and  the  architect  would  order  so  many 
pieces  of  such  subject  and  size  as  he  needed,  without  troub- 
ling himself  wTith  any  questions  but  those  of  disposition  and 
proportion.  But  this  is  not  so.  No  perfect  piece  either  of 
painting  or  sculpture  is  an  architectural  ornament  at  all,  except 
in  that  vague  sense  in  which  any  beautiful  thing  is  said  to 
ornament  the  place  it  is  in.  Thus  we  say  that  pictures  orna- 
ment a  room  ;  but  we  should  not  thank  an  architect  who  told 
us  that  his  design,  to  be  complete,  required  a  Titian  to  be 
put  in  one  corner  of  it,  and  a  Velasquez  in  the  other  ;  and  it 
is  just  as  unreasonable  to  call  perfect  sculpture,  niched  in,  or 
encrusted  on  a  building,  a  portion  of  the  ornament  of  that 
building,  as  it  would  be  to  hang  pictures  by  the  way  of  orna- 
ment on  the  outside  of  it  It  is  very  possible  that  the  sculp- 
tured work  may  be  harmoniously  associated  with  the  build- 
ing, or  the  building  executed  with  reference  to  it ;  but  in  this 
latter  case  the  architecture  is  subordinate  to  the  sculpture,  as 
in  the  Medicean  chapel,  and  I  believe  also  in  the  Parthenon. 
And  so  far  from  the  perfection  of  the  work  conducing  to  its 
ornamental  purpose,  we  may  say,  with  entire  security,  that  its 
perfection,  in  some  degree,  unfits  it  for  its  purpose,  and  that 
no  absolutely  complete  sculpture  can  be  decoratively  right. 
We  have  a  familiar  instance  in  the  flower-work  of  St.  Pauls, 
which  is  probably,  in  the  abstract,  as  perfect  flower  sculpture 
as  could  be  produced  at  the  time  ;  and  which  is  just  as  ra- 
tional an  ornament  of  the  building  as  so  many  valuable  Van 
Huysums,  framed  and  glazed  and  hung  up  over  each  window. 

§  iv.  The  especial  condition  of  true  ornament  is,  that  it  be 
beautiful  in  its  place,  and  nowhere  else,  and  that  it  aid  the 
effect  of  every  portion  of  the  building  over  which  it  has  influ- 
ence ;  that  it  does  not,  by  its  richness,  make  other  parts  bald, 


TREATMENT  OF  ORNAMENT. 


237 


or,  by  its  delicacy,  make  other  parts  coarse.  Every  one  of  its 
qualities  has  reference  to  its  place  and  use  :  and  it  is  fitted  for 
its  service  by  what  would  be  faults  and  deficiencies  if  it  had  no 
especial  duty.  Ornament,  the  servant,  is  often  formal,  where 
sculpture,  the  master,  would  have  been  free  ;  the  servant  is 
often  silent  where  the  master  would  have  been  eloquent  ;  or 
hurried,  where  the  master  would  have  been  serene. 

§  v.  How  far  this  subordination  is  in  different  situations  to 
be  expressed,  or  how  far  it  may  be  surrendered,  and  ornament, 
the  servant,  be  permitted  to  have  independent  will  ;  and  by 
what  means  the  subordination  is  best  to  be  expressed  when  it 
is  required,  are  by  far  the  most  difficult  questions  I  have  ever 
tried  to  work  out  respecting  any  branch  of  art  ;  for,  in  many 
of  the  examples  to  which  I  look  as  authoritative  in  their  majesty 
of  effect,  it  is  almost  impossible  to  say  whether  the  abstraction 
or  imperfection  of  the  sculpture  was  owing  to  the  choice,  or 
the  incapacity  of  the  workman  ;  and  if  to  the  latter,  how  far 
the  result  of  fortunate  incapacity  can  be  imitated  by  prudent 
self-restraint.  The  reader,  I  think,  will  understand  this  at 
once  by  considering  the  effect  of  the  illuminations  of  an  old 
missal.  In  their  bold  rejection  of  all  principles  of  perspective, 
light  and  shade,  and  drawing,  they  are  infinitely  more  orna- 
mental to  the  page,  owing  to  the  vivid  opposition  of  their 
bright  colors  and  quaint  lines,  than  if  they  had  been  drawn 
by  Da  Vinci  himself  :  and  so  the  Arena  chapel  is  far  more 
brightly  decorated  by  the  archaic  frescoes  of  Giotti,  than  the 
Stanze  of  the  Vatican  are  by  those  of  Eaffaelle.  But  how  far 
it  is  possible  to  recur  to  such  archaicism,  or  to  make  up  for  it 
by  any  voluntary  abandonment  of  power,  I  cannot  as  yet  vent- 
ure in  any  wise  to  determine. 

§  vi.  So,  on  the  other  hand,  in  many  instances  of  finished 
work  in  which  I  find  most  to  regret  or  to  reprobate,  I  can 
hardly  distinguish  what  is  erroneous  in  principle  from  what 
is  vulgar  in  execution.  For  instance,  in  most  Romanesque 
churches  of  Italy,  the  porches  are  guarded  by  gigantic  animals, 
lions  or  griffins,  of  admirable  severity  of  design  ;  yet,  in  many 
cases,  of  so  rude  workmanship,  that  it  can  hardly  be  deter- 
mined how  much  of  this  severity  was  intentional, — how  much 


238 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


involuntary  :  in  the  cathedral  of  Genoa  two  modem  lions  have, 
in  imitation  of  this  ancient  custom,  been  placed  on  the  steps 
of  its  west  front  ;  and  the  Italian  sculptor,  thinking  himself  a 
marvellous  great  man  because  he  knew  what  lions  were  really 
like,  has  copied  them,  in  the  menagerie,  with  great  success,, 
and  produced  two  hairy  and  well-whiskered  beasts,  as  like  to  . 
real  lions  as  he  could  possibly  cut  them.  One  wishes  them 
back  in  the  menagerie  for  his  pains  ;  but  it  is  impossible  to 
say  how  far  the  offence  of  their  presence  is  owing  to  the  mere 
stupidity  and  vulgarity  of  the  sculptor,  and  how  far  we 
might  have  been  delighted  with  a  realisation,  carried  to  nearly 
the  same  length  byGhiberti  or  Michael  Angelo.  (I  say  nearly, 
because  neither  Ghiberti  nor  Michael  Angelo  would  ever  have 
attempted,  or  permitted,  entire  realisation,  even  in  independ- 
ent sculpture. 

§  vn.  In  spite  of  these  embarrassments,  however,  some  few 
certainties  may  be  marked  in  the  treatment  of  past  architect- 
ure, and  secure  conclusions  deduced  for  future  practice. 
There  is  first,  for  instance,  the  assuredly  intended  and  resolute 
abstraction  of  the  Ninevite  and  Egyptian  sculptors.  The  men 
who  cut  those  granite  lions  in  the  Egyptian  room  of  the  Brit- 
ish Museum,  and  who  carved  the  calm  faces  of  those  Ninevite 
kings,  knew  much  more,  both  of  lions  and  kings,  than  they 
chose  to  express.  Then  there  is  the  Greek  system,  in  which 
the  human  sculpture  is  perfect,  the  architecture  and  animal 
sculpture  is  subordinate  to  it,  and  the  architectural  ornament 
severely  subordinated  to  this  again,  so  as  to  be  composed  of 
little  more  than  abstract  lines  :  and,  finally,  there  is  the  pecul- 
iarly mediaeval  system,  in  which  the  inferior  details  are  carried 
to  as  great  or  greater  imitative  perfection  as  the  higher  sculp- 
ture ;  and  the  subordination  is  chiefly  effected  by  symmetries 
of  arrangement,  and  quaintnesses  of  treatment,  respecting 
which  it  is  difficult  to  say  how  far  they  resulted  from  inten- 
tion, and  how  far  from  incapacity. 

§  viii.  Now  of  these  systems,  the  Ninevite  and  Egyptian 
are  altogether  opposed  to  modern  habits  of  thought  and 
action  ;  they  are  sculptures  evidently  executed  under  absolute 
authorities,  physical  and  mental,  such  as  cannot  at  present  ex- 


TREATMENT  OF  ORNAMENT. 


239 


ist.  The  Greek  system  presupposes  the  possession  of  a 
Phidias  ;  it  is  ridiculous  to  talk  of  building  in  the  Greek 
manner ;  you  may  build  a  Greek  shell  or  box,  such  as  the 
Greek  intended  to  contain  sculpture,  but  you  have  not  the 
sculpture  to  put  in  it.  Find  your  Phidias  first,  and  your  new 
Phidias  will  very  soon  settle  all  your  architectural  difficulties 
in  very  unexpected  ways  indeed  ;  but  until  you  find  him,  do 
not  think  yourselves  architects  while  you  go  on  copying  those 
poor  subordinations,  and  secondary  and  tertiary  orders  of  or- 
nament, which  the  Greek  put  on  the  shell  of  his  sculpture. 
Some  of  them,  beads,  and  dentils,  and  such  like,  are  as  good 
as  they  can  be  for  their  work,  and  you  may  use  them  for  sub- 
ordinate work  still ;  but  they  are  nothing  to  be  proud  of, 
especially  when  you  did  not  invent  them  :  and  others  of  them 
are  mistakes  and  impertinences  in  the  Greek  himself,  such  as 
his  so-called  honeysuckle  ornaments  and  others,  in  wrhich  there 
is  a  starched  and  dull  suggestion  of  vegetable  form,  and  yet  no 
real  resemblance  nor  life,  for  the  conditions  of  them  result 
from  his  own  conceit  of  himself,  and  ignorance  of  the  physical 
sciences,  and  want  of  relish  for  common  nature,  and  vain 
fancy  that  he  could  improve  everything  he  touched,  and  that 
he  honored  it  by  taking  it  into  his  service  :  by  freedom  from 
which  conceits  the  true  Christian  architecture  is  distinguished 
— not  by  points  to  its  arches. 

§  ix.  There  remains,  therefore,  only  the  mediaeval  system, 
in  which  I  think,  generally,  more  completion  is  permitted 
(though  this  often  because  more  was  possible)  in  the  inferior 
than  in  the  higher  portions  of  ornamental  subject.  Leaves, 
and  birds,  and  lizards  are  realised,  or  nearly  so  ;  men  and 
quadrupeds  formalised.  For  observe,  the  smaller  and  inferior 
subject  remains  subordinate,  however  richly  finished  ;  but  the 
human  sculpture  can  only  be  subordinate  by  being  imperfect. 
The  realisation  is,  however,  in  all  cases,  dangerous  except 
under  most  skilful  management,  and  the  abstraction,  if  true 
and  noble,  is  almost  always  more  delightful.* 

§  x.  What,  then,  is  noble  abstraction?    It  is  taking  first 

*  Vide  "  Seven  Lamps,"  Chap.  IV.  §  34, 

^ 


240 


THE  STONE'S  OF  VENICE. 


the  essential  elements  of  the  thing  to  be  represented,  then  th« 
rest  in  the  order  of  importance  (so  that  wherever  we  pause  we 
shall  always  have  obtained  more  than  we  leave  behind),  and 
using  any  expedient  to  impress  what  we  want  upon  the  mind, 
without  caring  about  the  mere  literal  accuracy  of  such  expe- 
dient. Suppose,  for  instance,  we  have  to  represent  a  peacock: 
now  a  peacock  has  a  graceful  neck,  so  has  a  swan  ;  it  has  a 
high  crest,  so  has  a  cockatoo ;  it  has  a  long  tail,  so  has  a  bird 
of  Paradise.  But  the  whole  spirit  and  power  of  peacock  is  in 
those  eyes  of  the  tail.  It  is  true,  the  argus  pheasant,  and  one 
or  two  more  birds,  have  something  like  them,  but  nothing  for 
a  moment  comparable  to  them  in  brilliancy  :  express  the 
gleaming  of  the  blue  eyes  through  the  plumage,  and  you  have 
nearly  all  you  want  of  peacock,  but  without  this,  nothing  ;  and 
yet  those  eyes  are  not  in  relief  ;  a  rigidly  true  sculpture  of  a 
peacock's  form  could  have  no  eyes, — nothing  but  feathers. 
Here,  then,  enters  the  stratagem  of  sculpture  ;  you  must  cut 
the  eyes  in  relief,  somehow  or  another  ;  see  how  it  is  done  in 
the  peacock  on  the  opposite  page  ;  it  is  so  done  by  nearly  all 
the  Byzantine  sculptors  :  this  particular  peacock  is  meant  to 
be  seen  at  some  distance  (how  far  off  I  know  not,  for  it  is  an 
interpolation  in  the  building  where  it  occurs,  of  which  more 
hereafter),  but  at  all  events  at  a  distance  of  thirty  or  forty 
feet ;  I  have  put  it  close  to  you  that  you  may  see  plainly  the 
rude  rings  and  rods  which  stand  for  the  eyes  and  quills,  but 
at  the  just  distance  their  effect  is  perfect. 

§  xi.  And  the  simplicity  of  the  means  here  employed  may 
help  us,  both  to  some  clear  understanding  of  the  spirit  of 
Ninevite  and  Egyptian  work,  and  to  some  perception  of  the 
kind  of  enfantiliage  or  archaicism  to  which  it  may  be  possible, 
even  in  days  of  advanced  science,  legitimately  to  return.  The 
architect  has  no  right,  as  we  said  before,  to  require  of  us  a 
picture  of  Titian's  in  order  to  complete  his  design  ;  neither 
has  he  the  right  to  calculate  on  the  co-operation  of  perfect 
sculptors,  in  subordinate  capacities.  Far  from  this ;  his 
business  is  to  dispense  with  such  aid  altogether,  and  to  de- 
vise such  a  system  of  ornament  as  shall  be  capable  of  execu- 
tion by  uninventive  and  even  unintelligent  workmen  ;  for 


vm 


PALAZZO  OKI  UADOARI  PARTECIPAZZJ. 


TREATMENT  OF  ORNAMENT. 


241 


supposing  that  he  required  noble  sculpture  for  his  ornament, 
how  far  would  this  at  once  limit  the  number  and  the  scale  o{ 
possible  buildings?  Architecture  is  the  work  of  nations  ;  but 
we  cannot  have  nations  of  great  sculptors.  Every  house  in, 
every  street  of  every  city  ought  to  be  good  architecture,  but 
we  cannot  have  Flaxman  or  Thorwaldsen  at  work  upon  it : 
nor,  even  if  we  chose  only  to  devote  ourselves  to  our  public 
buildings,  could  the  mass  and  majesty  of  them  be  great,  if  we 
required  all  to  be  executed  by  great  men  ;  greatness  is  not  to 
be  had  in  the  required  quantity.  Giotto  may  design  a  cam- 
panile, but  he  cannot  carve  it ;  he  can  only  carve  one  or  two 
of  the  bas-reliefs  at  the  base  of  it.  And  with  every  increase 
of  your  fastidiousness  in  the  execution  of  your  ornament,  you 
diminish  the  possible  number  and  grandeur  of  your  buildings. 
Do  not  think  you  can  educate  your  workmen,  or  that  the  de- 
mand for  perfection  will  increase  the  supply  :  educated  imbe- 
cility and  finessed  foolishness  are  the  worst  of  all  imbecilities 
and  foolishnesses  ;  and  there  is  no  free-trade  measure,  which 
will  ever  lower  the  price  of  brains, — there  is  no  California  of 
common  sense.  Exactly  in  the  degree  in  which  you  require 
your  decoration  to  be  wrought  by  thoughtful  men,  you  dimin- 
ish the  extent  and  number  of  architectural  works.  Your 
business  as  an  architect,  is  to  calculate  only  on  the  co-opera- 
tion of  inferior  men,  to  think  for  them,  and  to  indicate  for 
them  such  expressions  of  your  thoughts  as  the  weakest  capac- 
ity can  comprehend  and  the  feeblest  hand  can  execute.  This 
is  the  definition  of  the  purest  architectural  abstractions.  They 
are  the  deep  and  laborious  thoughts  of  the  greatest  men,  put 
into  such  easy  letters  that  they  can  be  written  by  the  simplest. 
They  are  expressions  of  the  mind  of  manhood  by  the  hands  of 
childhood. 

§  xii.  And  now  suppose  one  of  those  old  Ninevite  or 
Egyptian  builders,  with  a  couple  of  thousand  men — mud- 
bred,  onion-eating  creatures — under  him,  to  be  set  to  work, 
like  so  many  ants,  on  his  temple  sculptures.  What  is  he  to  do 
with  them  ?  He  can  put  them  through  a  granitic  exercise  of 
current  hand  ;  he  can  teach  them  all  how  to  curl  hair  thor- 
oughly into  croche-cceurs,  as  you  teach  a  bench  of  school-boys 

Vol,  L— 10  ^ 


242 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


how  to  shape  pothooks  ;  he  can  teach  them  all  how  to  draw 
long  eyes  and  straight  noses,  and  how  to  copy  accurately  cer- 
tain well-defined  lines.  Then  he  tits  his  own  great  design  to 
their  capacities  ;  he  takes  out  of  king,  or  lion,  or  god,  as  'much 
as  was  expressible  by  croche-cceurs  and  granitic  pothooks  ; 
he  throws  this  into  noble  forms  of  his  own  imagining,  and 
having  mapped  out  their  lines  so  that  there  can  be  no  possi- 
bility of  error,  sets  his  two  thousand  men  to  work  upon  them, 
with  a  will,  and  so  many  onions  a  day. 

§  xni.  I  said  those  times  cannot  now  return.  We  have, 
with  Christianity,  recognised  the  individual  value  of  every 
soul  ;  and  there  is  no  intelligence  so  feeble  but  that  its  single 
ray  may  in  some  sort  contribute  to  the  general  light.  This  is 
the  glory  of  Gothic  architecture,  that  every  jot  and  tittle, 
every  point  and  niche  of  it,  affords  room,  fuel,  and  focus  for 
individual  fire.  But  you  cease  to  acknowledge  this,  and  you 
refuse  to  accept  the  help  of  the  lesser  mind,  if  you  require 
the  work  to  be  all  executed  in  a  great  manner.  Tour  busi- 
ness is  to  think  out  all  of  it  nobly,  to  dictate  the  expression 
of  it  as  far  as  your  dictation  can  assist  the  less  elevated  intel- 
ligence :  then  to  leave  this,  aided  and  taught  as  far  as  may 
be,  to  its  own  simple  act  and  effort ;  and  to  rejoice  in  its  sim- 
plicity if  not  in  its  power,  and  in  its  vitality  if  not  in  its 
science. 

§  xrv.  We  have,  then,  three  orders  of  ornament,  classed 
according  to  the  degrees  of  correspondence  of  the  executive 
and  conceptive  minds.  We  have  the  servile  ornament,  in 
which  the  executive  is  absolutely  subjected  to  the  inventive, 
— the  ornament  of  the  great  Eastern  nations,  more  especially 
Hamite,  and  all  pre-Christian,  yet  thoroughly  noble  in  its 
submissiveness.  Then  we  have  the  mediaeval  system,  in  which 
the  mind  of  the  inferior  workman  is  recognised,  and  has  full 
room  for  action,  but  is  guided  and  ennobled  by  the  ruling 
mind.  This  is  the  truly  Christian  and  only  perfect  system. 
Finally,  we  have  ornaments  expressing  the  endeavor  to 
equalise  the  executive  and  inventive, — endeavor  which  is 
Renaissance  and  revolutionary,  and  destructive  of  all  noble 
architecture. 


TREATMENT  OF  0RNAMEN1. 


213 


§  xv.  Thus  far,  then,  of  the  incompleteness  or  simplicity 
of  execution  necessary  in  architectural  ornament,  as  referred 
to  the  mind.  Next  we  have  to  consider  that  which  is  re- 
quired when  it  is  referred  to  the  sight,  and  the  various  modi- 
fications of  treatment  which  are  rendered  necessary  by  the 
variation  of  its  distance  from  the  eye.  I  say  necessary  :  not 
merely  expedient  or  economical.  It  is  foolish  to  carve  what 
is  to  be  seen  forty  feet  off  with  the  delicacy  which  the  eye  de- 
mands within  two  yards  ;  not  merely  because  such  delicacy  is 
lost  in  the  distance,  but  because  it  is  a  great  deal  worse  than 
lost : — the  delicate  work  has  actually  worse  effect  in  the 
distance  than  rough  work.  This  is  a  fact  well  known  to 
painters,  and,  for  the  most  part,  acknowledged  by  the  critics 
of  painters,  namely,  that  there  is  a  certain  distance  for  which 
a  picture  is  painted  ;  and  that  the  finish,  which  is  delightful 
if  that  distance  be  small,  is  actually  injurious  if  the  distance 
be  great :  and,  moreover,  that  there  is  a  particular  method  of 
handling  which  none  but  consummate  artists  reach,  which  has 
its  effects  at  the  intended  distance,  and  is  altogether  hiero- 
glyphical  and  unintelligible  at  any  other.  This,  I  say,  is  ac- 
knowledged in  painting,  but  it  is  not  practically  acknowl- 
edged in  architecture  ;  nor  until  my  attention  was  espe- 
cially directed  to  it,  had  I  myself  any  idea  of  the  care  with 
which  this  great  question  was  studied  by  the  mediaeval  archi- 
tects. On  my  first  careful  examination  of  the  capitals  of 
the  upper  arcade  of  the  Ducal  Palace  at  Venice,  I  was  in- 
duced, by  their  singular  inferiority  of  workmanship,  to  sup- 
pose them  posterior  to  those  of  the  lower  arcade.  It  was  not 
till  I  discovered  that  some  of  those  which  I  thought  the 
worst  above,  were  the  best  when  seen  from  below,  that  I  ob- 
tained the  key  to  this  marvellous  system  of  adaptation  ;  a 
system  which  I  afterwards  found  carried  out  in  every  build- 
ing of  the  great  times  which  I  had  opportunity  of  examin- 
ing. 

§  xvi.  There  are  two  distinct  modes  in  which  this  adapta- 
tion is  effected.  In  the  first,  the  same  designs  which  are  deli- 
cately worked  when  near  the  eye,  are  rudely  cut,  and  have  far 
fewer  details  when  they  are  removed  from  it.    Iu  this  method 


244 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


it  is  not  always  easy  to  distinguish  economy  from  skill,  or 
slovenliness  from  science.  But,  in  the  second  method,  a  dif- 
ferent design  is  adopted,  composed  of  fewer  parts  and  of  sim- 
pler lines,  and  this  is  cut  with  exquisite  precision.  This  is  of 
course  the  higher  method,  and  the  more  satisfactory  proof  of 
purpose  ;  but  an  equal  degree  of  imperfection  is  found  in  both 
kinds  when  they  are  seen  close  ;  in  the  first,  a  bald  execution 
of  a  perfect  design  ;  the  second,  a  baldness  of  design  with 
perfect  execution.  And  in  these  very  imperfections  lies  the 
admirableness  of  the  ornament. 

§  xvn.  It  may  be  asked  whether,  in  advocating  this  adajk 
tation  to  the  distance  of  the  eye,  I  obey  my  adopted  rule  of 
observance  of  natural  law.  Are  not  all  natural  things,  it  may 
be  asked,  as  lovely  near  as  far  aw7ay  ?  Nay,  not  so.  Look  at 
the  clouds,  and  watch  the  delicate  sculpture  of  their  alabaster 
sides,  and  the  rounded  lustre  of  their  magnificent  rolling. 
They  are  meant  to  be  beheld  far  away  ;  they  were  shaped  for 
their  place,  high  above  your  head  ;  approach  them,  and  they 
fuse  into  vague  mists,  or  whirl  away  in  fierce  fragments  of 
thunderous  vapor.  Look  at  the  crest  of  the  Alp,  from  the 
far-away  plains  over  which  its  light  is  cast,  whence  human 
souls  have  communion  with  it  by  their  myriads.  The  child 
looks  up  to  it  in  the  dawn,  and  the  husbandman  in  the  burden 
and  heat  of  the  day,  and  the  old  man  in  the  going  down  of  the 
sun,  and  it  is  to  them  all  as  the  celestial  city  on  the  world's 
horizon  ;  dyed  with  the  depth  of  heaven,  and  clothed  with 
the  calm  of  eternity.  There  was  it  set,  for  holy  dominion, 
by  Him  who  marked  for  the  sun  his  journey,  and  bade  the 
moon  know  her  going  down.  It  was  built  for  its  pla  ce  m 
the  far-off  sky  ;  approach  it,  and  as  the  sound  of  the  voice 
of  man  dies  away  about  its  foundations,  and  the  tide  of 
human  life  shallowed  upon  the  vast  aerial  shore,  is  at  last 
met  by  the  Eternal  "  Here  shall  thy  waves  be  stayed,"  the 
glory  of  its  aspect  fades  into  blanched  fearfulness  ;  its  pur- 
ple walls  are  rent  into  grisly  rocks,  its  silver  fretwork  sad- 
dened into  wasting  snow,  the  storm-brands  of  ages  are  on. 
its  breast,  the  ashes  of  its  own  ruin  lie  solemnly  on  its  white 
raiment. 


TREATMENT  OF  ORNAMENT. 


245 


Nor  in  such  instances  as  these  alone,  though  strangely 
enough,  the  discrepancy  between  apparent  and  actual  beauty 
is  greater  in  proportion  to  the  unapproachableness  of  the 
object,  is  the  law  observed.  For  every  distance  from  the  eye 
there  is  a  peculiar  kind  of  beauty,  or  a  different  system  of 
lines  of  form  ;  the  sight  of  that  beauty  is  reserved  for  that 
distance,  and  for  that  alone.  If  you  approach  nearer,  that 
kind  of  beauty  is  lost,  and  another  succeeds,  to  be  disorgan^ 
ised  and  reduced  to  strange  and  incomprehensible  means  and 
appliances  in  its  turn.  If  you  desire  to  perceive  the  great 
harmonies  of  the  form  of  a  rocky  mountain,  you  must  not 
ascend  upon  its  sides.  All  is  there  disorder  and  accident,  or 
seems  so  ;  sudden  starts  of  its  shattered  beds  hither  and 
thither  ;  ugly  struggles  of  unexpected  strength  from  under 
the  ground  ;  fallen  fragments,  toppling  one  over  another  into 
more  helpless  fall.  Eetire  from  it,  and,  as  your  eye  commands 
it  more  and  more,  as  you  see  the  ruined  mountain  world  with 
a  wider  glance,  behold  !  dim  sympathies  begin  to  busy  them- 
selves in  the  disjointed  mass  ;  line  binds  itself  into  stealthy 
fellowship  with  line  ;  group  by  group,  the  helpless  fragments 
gather  themselves  into  ordered  companies  ;  new  captains  of 
hosts  and  masses  of  battalions  become  visible,  one  by  one,  and 
far  away  answers  of  foot  to  foot,  and  of  bone  to  bone,  until 
the  powerless  chaos  is  seen  risen  up  with  girded  loins,  and 
not  one  piece  of  all  the  unregarded  heap  could  now  be  spared 
from  the  mystic  whole. 

§  xvm.  Now  it  is  indeed  true  that  where  nature  loses  one 
kind  of  beauty,  as  you  approach  it,  she  substitutes  another  ; 
this  is  worthy  of  her  infinite  power :  and,  as  we  shall  see,  art 
can  sometimes  follow  her  even  in  doing  this  ;  but  all  I  insist 
upon  at  present  is,  that  the  several  effects  of  nature  are  each 
worked  with  means  referred  to  a  particular  distance,  and  pro- 
ducing their  effect  at  that  distance  only.  Take  a  singular  and 
marked  instance  :  When  the  sun  rises  behind  a  ridge  of  pines, 
and  those  pines  are  seen  from  a  distance  of  a  mile  or  twTo, 
against  his  light,  the  whole  form  of  the  tree,  trunk,  branches, 
and  all,  becomes  one  frostwork  of  intensely  brilliant  silver, 
which  is  relieved  against  the  clear  sky  like  a  burning  fringe, 


246 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


for  some  distance  on  either  side  of  the  sun.*  Now  suppose 
that  a  person  who  had  never  seen  pines  were,  for  the  first  time 
in  his  life,  to  see  them  under  this  strange  aspect,  and,  reason- 
ing as  to  the  means  by  which  such  effect  could  be  produced, 
laboriously  to  approach  the  eastern  ridge,  how  would  he  be 
amazed  to  find  that  the  fiery  spectres  had  been  produced  by 
trees  with  swarthy  and  grey  trunks,  and  dark  green  leaves ! 
We,  in  our  simplicity,  if  we  had  been  required  to  produce  such 
an  appearance,  should  have  built  up  trees  of  chased  silver,  with 
trunks  of  glass,  and  then  been  grievously  amazed  to  find  that, 
at  two  miles  off,  neither  silver  nor  glass  were  any  more  visible  ; 
but  nature  knew  better,  and  prepared  for  her  fairy  work  with 
the  strong  branches  and  dark  leaves,  in  her  own  mysterious 
way. 

§  xix.  Now  this  is  exactly  what  you  have  to  do  with  your 
good  ornament.  It  may  be  that  it  is  capable  of  being  ap- 
proached, as  well  as  likely  to  be  seen  far  away,  and  then  it 
ought  to  have  microscopic  qualities,  as  the  pine  leaves  have, 
which  will  bear  approach.  But  your  calculation  of  its  pur- 
pose is  for  a  glory  to  be  produced  at  a  given  distance  ;  it  may 
be  here,  or  may  be  there,  but  it  is  a  given  distance  ;  and  the 
excellence  of  the  ornament  depends  upon  its  fitting  that  dis- 
tance, and  being  seen  better  there  than  anywhere  else,  and 
having  a  particular  function  and  form  which  it  can  only  dis- 
charge and  assume  there.  You  are  never  to  say  that  ornament 
has  great  merit  because  "  you  cannot  see  the  beauty  of  it 
here  ;  "  but,  it  has  great  merit  because  "  you  can  see  its  beauty 
here  only"  And  to  give  it  this  merit  is  just  about  as  difficult 
a  task  as  I  could  well  set  you.    I  have  above  noted  the  two 

*  Shakspeare  and  Wordsworth  (I  think  they  only)  have  noticed  this, 
Shakspeare,  in  Richard  II.  :  — 

k'  Bnt  when,  from  under  this  terrestrial  ball, 
He  fires  the  proud  tops  of  the  eastern  pines." 

And  Wordsworth,  in  one  of  his  minor  poems,  on  leaving  Italy: 

"  My  thoughts  become  bright  like  yon  edging  of  pines 
On  the  steep's  lofty  verge— how  it  blackened  the  air  ! 
But,  touched  from  behind  by  the  sun,  it  now  shines 
With  threads  that  seem  part  of  his  own  silver  hair."  ,  A. 


TREATMENT  OF  ORNAMENT. 


247 


ways  in  which  it  is  done  :  the  one,  being  merely  rough  cut- 
ting, may  be  passed  over  ;  the  other,  which  is  scientific  alter 
ation  of  design,  falls,  itself,  into  two  great  branches,  Simplifi- 
cation and  Emphasis. 

A  word  or  two  is  necessary  on  each  of  these  heads. 

§  xx.  When  an  ornamental  work  is  intended  to  be  seen 
near,  if  its  composition  be  indeed  fine,  the  subdued  and  deli- 
cate portions  of  the  design  lead  to,  and  unite,  the  energetic 
parts,  and  those  energetic  parts  form  with  the  rest  a  whole,  in 
which  their  own  immediate  relations  to  each  other  are  not  per- 
ceived. Remove  this  design  to  a  distance,  and  the  connecting 
delicacies  vanish,  the  energies  alone  remain,  now  either  dis- 
connected altogether,  or  assuming  with  each  other  new  rela- 
tions, which,  not  having  been  intended  by  the  designer,  will 
probably  be  painful.  There  is  a  like,  and  a  more  palpable, 
effect,  in  the  retirement  of  a  band  of  music  in  which  the  in- 
struments are  of  very  unequal  powers  ;  the  fluting  and  fifeing 
expire,  the  drumming  remains,  and  that  in  a  painful  arrange- 
ment, as  demanding  something  which  is  unheard.  In  like 
manner,  as  the  designer  at  arm's  length  removes  or  elevates 
his  work,  fine  gradations,  and  roundings,  and  incidents,  vanish, 
and  a  totally  unexpected  arrangement  is  established  between 
the  remainder  of  the  markings,  certainly  confused,  and  in  all 
probability  painful. 

§  xxi.  The  art  of  architectural  design  is  therefore,  first,  the 
preparation  for  this  beforehand,  the  rejection  of  all  the  delicate 
passages  as  worse  than  useless,  and  the  fixing  the  thought  upon 
the  arrangement  of  the  features  which  will  remain  visible  far 
away.  Nor  does  this  always  imply  a  diminution  of  resource  ; 
for,  while  it  may  be  assumed  as  a  law  that  fine  modulation  of 
surface  in  light  becomes  quickly  invisible  as  the  object  retires, 
there  are  a  softness  and  mystery  given  to  the  harder  markings, 
which  enable  them  to  be  safely  used  as  media  of  expression. 
There  is  an  exquisite  example  of  this  use,  in  the  head  of  the 
Adam  of  the  Ducal  Palace.  It  is  only  at  the  height  of  17  or 
18  feet  above  the  eye  ;  nevertheless,  the  sculptor  felt  it  was  no 
use  to  trouble  himself  about  drawing  the  corners  of  the  mouth, 
or  the  lines  of  the  lips,  delicately,  at  that  distance  ;  his  object 


248 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


has  been  to  mark  them  clearly,  and  to  prevent  accidental 
shadows  from  concealing  them,  or  altering  their  expression. 
The  lips  are  cut  thin  and  sharp,  so  that  their  line  cannot  be 
mistaken,  and  a  good  deep  drill-hole  struck  into  the  angle  of 
the  mouth ;  the  eye  is  anxious  and  questioning,  and  one  is 
surprised,  from  below,  to  perceive  a  kind  of  darkness  in  the 
iris  of  it,  neither  like  color,  nor  like  a  circular  furrow.  The 
expedient  can  only  be  discovered  by  ascending  to  the  level  of 
the  head  ;  it  is  one  which  would  have  been  quite  inadmissible 
except  in  distant  work,  six  drill-holes  cut  into  the  iris,  round 
a  central  one  for  the  pupil. 

§  xxii.  By  just  calculation,  like  this,  of  the  means  at  our 
disposal,  by  beautiful  arrangement  of  the  prominent  features, 
and  by  choice  of  different  subjects  for  different  places,  choos- 
ing the  broadest  forms  for  the  farthest  distance,  it  is  possible 
to  give  the  impression,  not  only  of  perfection,  but  of  an  ex- 
quisite delicacy,  to  the  most  distant  ornament.  And  this  is 
the  true  sign  of  the  right  having  been  done,  and  the  utmost 
possible  power  attained  : — The  spectator  should  be  satisfied 
to  stay  in  his  place,  feeling  the  decoration,  wherever  it  may 
be,  equally  rich,  full,  and  lovely  :  not  desiring  to  climb  the 
steeples  in  order  to  examine  it,  but  sure  that  he  has  it  all, 
where  he  is.  Perhaps  the  capitals  of  the  cathedral  of  Genoa 
are  the  best  instances  of  absolute  perfection  in  this  kind  : 
seen  from  below,  they  appear  as  rich  as  the  frosted  silver  of 
the  Strada  degli  Orefici ;  and  the  nearer  you  approach  them, 
the  less  delicate  they  seem. 

§  xxin.  This  is,  however,  r«ot  the  only  mode,  though  the 
best,  in  which  ornament  is  adapted  for  distance.  The  other 
is  emphasis, — the  unnatural  insisting  upon  explanatory  lines, 
where  the  subject  would  otherwise  become  unintelligible.  It 
is  to  be  remembered  that,  by  a  deep  and  narrow  incision,  an 
architect  has  the  power,  at  least  in  sunshine,  of  drawing  a 
black  line  on  stone,  just  as  vigorously  as  it  can  be  drawn  with 
chalk  on  grey  paper ;  and  that  he  may  thus,  wherever  and 
in  the  degree  that  he  chooses,  substitute  chalk  sketching  for 
sculpture.  They  are  curiously  mingled  by  the  Romans.  Tbe 
bas-reliefs  of  the  Are  d'Orange  are  small,  and  would  be  con- 


TREATMENT  OF  ORNAMENT. 


249 


fused,  though  in  bold  relief,  if  they  depended  for  intelligibility 
on  the  relief  only  ;  but  each  figure  is  outlined  by  a  strong 
incision  at  its  edge  into  the  background,  and  all  the  ornaments 
on  the  armor  are  simply  drawn  with  incised  lines,  and  not  cut 
out  at  all.  A  similar  use  of  lines  is  made  by  the  Gothic  na- 
tions in  all  their  early  sculpture,  and  with  delicious  effect. 
Now,  to  draw  a  mere  pattern — as,  for  instance,  the  bearings 
of  a  shield — with  these  simple  incisions,  would,  I  suppose, 
occupy  an  able  sculptor  twenty  minutes  or  half  an  hour  ;  and 
the  pattern  is  then  clearly  seen,  under  all  circumstances  of 
light  and  shade  ;  there  can  be  no  mistake  about  it,  and  no 
missing  it.  To  carve  out  the  bearings  in  due  and  finished 
relief  would  occupy  a  long  summer's  day,  and  the  results 
would  be  feeble  and  indecipherable  in  the  best  lights,  and  in 
some  lights  totally  and  hopelessly  invisible,  ignored,  non- 
existent. Now  the  Renaissance  architects,  and  our  modern 
ones,  despise  the  simple  expedient  of  the  rough  Roman  01 
barbarian.  They  do  not  care  to  be  understood.  They  care 
only  to  speak  finely,  and  be  thought  great  orators,  if  one 
could  only  hear  them.  So  I  leave  you  to  choose  between  the 
old  men,  who  took  minutes  to  tell  things  plainly,  and  the 
modern  men,  who  take  days  to  tell  them  unintelligibly. 

§  xxiv.  All  expedients  of  this  kind,  both  of  simplification 
and  energy,  for  the  expression  of  details  at  a  distance  where 
their  actual  forms  would  have  been  invisible,  but  more  es- 
pecially this  linear  method,  I  shall  call  Proutism  ;  for  the 
greatest  master  of  the  art  in  modern  times  has  been  Samuel 
Prout.  He  actually  takes  up  buildings  of  the  later  times  in 
which  the  ornament  has  been  too  refined  for  its  place,  and 
translates  it  into  the  energised  linear  ornament  of  earlier  art : 
and  to  this  power  of  taking  the  life  and  essence  of  decoration, 
and  putting  it  into  a  perfectly  intelligible  form,  when  its  own 
fulness  would  have  been  confused,  is  owing  the  especial  power 
of  his  drawings.  Nothing  can  be  more  closely  analogous  than 
the  method  with  which  an  old  Lombard  uses  his  chisel,  and 
that  with  which  Prout  uses  the  reed-pen  ;  and  we  shall  see 
presently  farther  correspondence  in  their  feeling  about  the 
enrichment  of  luminous  surfaces. 


250 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE, 


§  xxv.  Now,  all  that  lias  been  hitherto  said  refers  to  orna- 
ment  whose  distance  is  fixed,  or  nearly  so  ;  as  when  it  is  at 
any  considerable  height  from  the  ground,  supposing  the  spec- 
tator to  desire  to  see  it,  and  to  get  as  near  it  as  he  can.  But 
the  distance  of  ornament  is  never  fixed  to  the  general  specta- 
tor. The  tower  of  a  cathedral  is  bound  to  look  well,  ten  miles 
off,  or  five  miles,  or  half  a  mile,  or  within  fifty  yards.  The 
ornaments  of  its  top  have  fixed  distances,  compared  with  those 
of  its  base  ;  but  quite  unfixed  distances  in  their  relation  to  the 
great  world  :  and  the  ornaments  of-  the  base  have  no  fixed  dis- 
tance at  all.  They  are  bound  to  look  well  from  the  other  side 
of  the  cathedral  close,  and  to  look  equally  well,  or  better,  as 
we  enter  the  cathedral  door.    How  are  we  to  manage  this  ? 

§  xxvi.  As  nature  manages  it.  I  said  above,  §  xvh.,  that 
for  every  distance  from  the  eye  there  was  a  different  system 
of  form  in  all  natural  objects:  this  is  to  be  so  then  in  archi- 
tecture. The  lesser  ornament  is  to  be  grafted  on  the  greater, 
and  third  or  fourth  orders  of  ornaments  upon  this  again,  as 
need  may  be,  until  we  reach  the  limits  of  possible  sight ;  each 
order  of  ornament  being  adapted  for  a  different  distance  : 
first,  for  example,  the  great  masses, — the  buttresses  and  stories 
and  black  windows  and  broad  cornices  of  the  tower,  which 
give  it  make,  and  organism,  as  it  rises  over  the  horizon,  half  a 
score  of  miles  away :  then  the  traceries  and  shafts  and  pinna- 
cles, which  give  it  richness  as  we  approach  :  then  the  niches 
and  statues  and  knobs  and  flowers,  which  we  can  only  see 
when  we  stand  beneath  it.  At  this  third  order  of  ornament, 
we  may  pause,  in  the  upper  portions  ;  but  on  the  roofs  of  the 
niches,  and  the  robes  of  the  statues,  and  the  rolls  of  the 
mouldings,  comes  a  fourth  order  of  ornament,  as  delicate  as  the 
eye  can  follow,  when  any  of  these  features  may  be  approached. 

§  xxvii.  All  good  ornamentation  is  thus  arborescent^  as  it 
were,  one  class  of  it  branching  out  of  another  and  sustained 
by  it ;  and  its  nobility  consists  in  t.his,#that  whatever  order  01 
class  of  it  we  may  be  contemplating,  we  shall  find  it  subor- 
dinated to  a  greater,  simpler,  and  more  powerful  ;  and  if  we 
then  contemplate  the  greater  order,  we  shall  find  it  again  sub' 
prdinated  to  a  greater  still ;  until  the  greatest  can  only  be 


TREATMENT  OF  ORNAMENT. 


251 


quite  grasped  by  retiring  to  the  limits  of  distance  command- 
ing it. 

And  if  this  subordination  be  not  complete,  the  ornament  is 
bad  :  if  the  figurings  and  chasings  and  borderings  of  a  dress 
be  not  subordinated  to  the  folds  of  it, — if  the  folds  are  not 
subordinate  to  the  action  and  mass  of  the  figure, — if  this 
action  and  mass  not  to  the  divisions  of  the  recesses  and  shafts 
among  which  it  stands, — if  these  not  to  the  shadows  of  the 
great  arches  and  buttresses  of  the  whole  building,  in  each 
case  there  is  error  ;  much  more  if  all  be  contending  with  each 
other  and  striving  for  attention  at  the  same  time. 

§  xxviii.  It  is  nevertheless  evident,  that,  however  perfect 
this  distribution,  there  cannot  be  orders  adapted  to  every  dis- 
tance of  the  spectator.  Between  the  ranks  of  ornament  there 
must  always  be  a  bold  separation ;  and  there  must  be  many 
intermediate  distances,  where  we  are  too  far  off  to  see  the 
lesser  rank  clearly,  and  yet  too  near  to  grasp  the  next  higher 
rank  wholly  :  and  at  all  these  distances  the  spectator  will  feel 
himself  ill-placed,  and  will  desire  to  go  nearer  or  farther  away. 
This  must  be  the  case  in  all  noble  work,  natural  or  artificial. 
It  is  exactly  the  same  with  respect  to  Rouen  cathedral  or  the 
Mont  Blanc.  We  like  to  see  them  from  the  other  side  of  the 
Seine,  or  of  the  lake  of  Geneva  ;  from  the  Marche*  aux  Fleurs, 
or  the  Valley  of  Chamouni ;  from  the  parapets  of  the  apse,  or 
the  crags  of  the  Montague  de  la  Cute :  but  there  are  interme- 
diate distances  which  dissatisfy  us  in  either  case,  and  from 
which  one  is  in  haste  either  to  advance  or  to  retire. 

§  xxix.  Directly  opposed  to  this  ordered,  disciplined,  well 
officered  and  variously  ranked  ornament,  this  type  of  divine, 
and  therefore  of  all  good  human  government,  is  the  demo- 
cratic ornament,  in  which  all  is  equally  influential,  and  has 
equal  office  and  authority  ;  that  is  to  say,  none  of  it  any  office 
nor  authority,  but  a  life  of  continual  struggle  for  independence 
and  notoriety,  or  of  gambling  for  chance  regards.  The  Eng- 
lish perpendicular  work  is  by  far  the  worst  of  this  kind  that 
I  know  ;  its  main  idea,  or  decimal  fraction  of  an  idea,  being 
to  cover  its  walls  with  dull,  successive,  eternity  of  reticulation, 
to  fill  with  equal  foils  the  equal  interstices  between  the  equal 


252 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


bars,  and  charge  the  interminable  blanks  with  statues  and 
rosettes,  invisible  at  a  distance,  and  uninteresting  near. 

The  early  Lombardic,  Veronese,  and  Norman  work  is  the 
exact  reverse  of  this  ;  being  divided  first  into  large  masses, 
and  these  masses  covered  with  minute  chasing  and  surface 
work,  which  fill  them  with  interest,  and  yet  do  not  disturb 
nor  divide  their  greatness.  The  lights  are  kept  broad  and 
bright,  and  yet  are  found  on  near  approach  to  be  charged 
with  intricate  design.  This,  again,  is  a  part  of  the  great  sys- 
tem of  treatment  which  I  shall  hereafter  call  "  Proutism  ;" 
much  of  what  is  thought  mannerism  and  imperfection  in 
Prout's  work,  being  the  result  of  his  determined  resolution 
that  minor  details  shall  never  break  up  his  large  masses  of 
light. 

§  xxx.  Such  are  the  main  principles  to  be  observed  in  the 
adaptation  of  ornament  to  the  sight.  We  have  lastly  to  in- 
quire by  what  method,  and  in  what  quantities,  the  ornament, 
thus  adapted  to  mental  comtemplation,  and  prepared  for  its 
physical  position,  may  most  wisely  be  arranged.  I  think  the 
method  ought  first  to  be  considered,  and  the  quantity  last ; 
for  the  advisable  quantity  depends  upon  the  method. 

§  xxxi.  It  was  said  above,  that  the  proper  treatment  or  ar- 
rangement of  ornament  was  that  which  expressed  the  laws 
and  ways  of  Deity.  Now,  the  subordination  of  visible  orders 
to  each  other,  just  noted,  is  one  expression  of  these.  But  there 
may  also — must  also — be  a  subordination  and  obedience  of 
the  parts  of  each  order  to  some  visible  law,  out  of  itself,  but 
having  reference  to  itself  only  (not  to  any  upper  order) : 
some  law  which  shall  not  oppress,  but  guide,  limit,  and  sus- 
tain. 

In  the  tenth  chapter  of  the  second  volume  of  ' 'Modern 
Painters,"  the  reader  will  find  that  I  traced  one  part  of  the 
beauty  of  God's  creation  to  the  expression  of  a  ^//-restrained 
liberty  :  that  is  to  say,  the  image  of  that  perfection  of  divine 
action,  which,  though  free  to  work  in  arbitrary  methods,  work* 
always  in  consistent  methods,  called  by  us  Laws. 

Now,  correspondingly,  we  find  that  when  these  natural  ob- 
jects are  to  become  subjects  of  the  art  of  man,  their  perfect 


TREATMENT  OF  ORNAMENT. 


253 


treatment  is  an  image  of  the  perfection  of  human  action  :  a 
voluntary  submission  to  divine  law. 

It  was  suggested  to  me  but  lately  by  the  friend  to  whose 
originality  of  thought  I  have  before  expressed  my  obligations, 
Mr.  Newton,  that  the  Greek'pediment,  with  its  enclosed  sculpt- 
ures, represented  to  the  Greek  mind  the  law  of  Fate,  con- 
fining human  action  within  limits  not  to  be  overpassed.  I  do 
not  believe  the  Greeks  ever  distinctly  thought  of  this ;  but 
the  instinct  of  all  the  human  race,  since  the  world  began, 
agrees  in  some  expression  of  such  limitation  as  one  of  the  first 
necessities  of  good  ornament.*  And  this  expression  is  height- 
ened, rather  than  diminished,  when  some  portion  of  the  design 
slightly  breaks  the  law  to  which  the  rest  is  subjected  ;  it  is 
like  expressing  the  use  of  miracles  in  the  divine  government ; 
or,  perhaps,  in  slighter  degrees,  the  relaxing  of  a  law,  gener- 
ally imperative,  in  compliance  with  some  more  imperative 
need — the  hungering  of  David.  How  eagerly  this  special  in- 
fringement of  a  general  law  was  sometimes  sought  by  the 
mediaeval  workmen,  I  shall  be  frequently  able  to  point  out  to 
the  reader  ;  but  I  remember  just  now  a  most  curious  instance, 
in  an  archivolt  of  a  house  in  the  Corte  del  Remer  close  to  the 
Rialto  at  Venice.  It  is  composed  of  a  wreath  of  flower-work 
— a  constant  Byzantine  design — with  an  animal  in  each  coil ; 
the  whole  enclosed  between  two  fillets.  Each  animal,  leaping 
or  eating,  scratching  or  biting,  is  kept  nevertheless  strictly 
within  its  coil,  and  between  the  fillets.  Not  the  shake  of  an 
ear,  not  the  tip  of  a  tail,  overpasses  this  appointed  line,  through 
a  series  of  some  five-and-twenty  or  thirty  animals  ;  until,  on  a 
sudden,  and  by  mutual  consent,  two  little  beasts  (not  looking, 
for  the  rest,  more  rampant  than  the  others),  one  on  each  side, 
lay  their  small  paws  across  the  enclosing  fillet  at  exactly  the 
same  point  of  its  course,  and  thus  break  the  continuity  of  its 
line.    Two  ears  of  corn,  or  leaves,  do  the  same  thing  in  the 

*  Some  valuable  remarks  on  this  subject  will  be  found  in  a  notice  of 
the  lt  Seven  Lamps  '  in  the  British  Quarterly  for  August,  1849.  I  think, 
however,  the  writer  attaches  too  great  importance  to  one  out  of  many  or- 
namental necessities.  « 


254 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


mouldings  round  the  northern  door  of  the  Baptistery  at  Fk>r« 
ence. 

§  xxxii.  Observe,  however,  and  this  is  of  the  utmost  pos- 
sible importance,  that  the  value  of  this  type  does  not  consist 
in  the  mere  shutting  of  the  ornament  into  a  certain  space,  but 
in  the  acknowledgment  by  the  ornament  of  the  fitness  of  the 
limitation — of  its  own  perfect  willingness  to  submit  to  it ;  nay, 
of  a  predisposition  in  itself  to  fall  into  the  ordained  form, 
without  any  direct  expression  of  the  command  to  do  so  ;  an 
anticipation  of  the  authority,  and  an  instant  and  willing  sub- 
mission to  it,  in  every  fibre  and  spray  :  not  merely  willing, 
but  happy  submission,  as  being  pleased  rather  than  vexed  to 
have  so  beautiful  a  law  suggested  to  it,  and  one  which  to  fol- 
low is  so  justly  in  accordance  with  its  own  nature.  You  must 
not  cut  out  a  branch  of  hawthorn  as  it  grows,  and  rule  a  tri- 
angle round  it,  and  suppose  that  it  is  then  submitted  to  law. 
Not  a  bit  of  it.  It  is  only  put  in  a  cage,  and  will  look  as  if  it 
must  get  out,  for  its  life,  or  wither  in  the  confinement.  But 
the  spirit  of  triangle  must  be  put  into  the  hawthorn.  It  must 
suck  in  isoscelesism  with  its  sap.  Thorn  and  blossom,  leaf 
and  spray,  must  grow  with  an  awful  sense  of  triangular  neces- 
sity upon  them,  for  the  guidance  of  which,  the}'  are  to  be 
thankful,  and  to  grow  all  the  stronger  and  more  gloriously. 
And  though  there  may  be  a  transgression  here  and  there,  and 
an  adaptation  to  some  other  need,  or  a  reaching  forth  to  some 
other  end  greater  even  than  the  triangle,  yet  this  liberty  is  to 
be  always  accepted  under  a  solemn  sense  of  special  permis- 
sion ;  and  when  the  full  form  is  reached  and  the  entire  sub- 
mission expressed,  and  every  blossom  has  a  thrilling  sense  of 
its  reponsibility  down  into  its  tiniest  stamen,  you  may  take 
your  terminal  line  away  if  you  will.  No  need  for  it  any  more. 
The  commandment  is  written  on  the  heart  of  the  thing. 

§  xxxm.  Then,  besides  this  obedience  to  external  law,  there 
is  the  obedience  to  internal  headship,  which  constitutes  the 
unity  of  ornament,  of  which  I  think  enough  has  been  said  for 
my  present  purpose  in  the  chapter  on  Unity  in  the  second 
vol.  of  "Modern  Painters."  But  I  hardly  know  whether  to 
arrange  as  an  expression  of  a  di  vine  law,  or  a  representation 


TREATMENT  OF  ORNAMENT. 


255 


of  a  physical  fact,  the  alternation  of  shade  with  light  which, 
in  equal  succession,  forms  one  of  the  chief  elements  of  contin- 
uous ornament,  and  in  some  peculiar  ones,  such  as  dentils  and 
billet  mouldings,  is  the  source  of  their  only  charm.  The  op- 
position of  good  and  evil,  the  antagonism  of  the  entire  human 
system  (so  ably  worked  out  by  Lord  Lindsay),  the  alternation 
of  labor  with  rest,  the  mingling  of  life  with  death,  or  the 
actual  physical  fact  of  the  division  of  light  from  darkness,  and 
of  the  falling  and  rising  of  night  and  day,  are  all  typified  or 
represented  by  these  chains  of  shade  and  light  of  which  the 
eye  never  wearies,  though  their  true  meaning  may  never  occur 
to  the  thoughts. 

§  xxxiv.  The  next  question  respecting  the  arrangement  of 
ornament  is  one  closely  connected  also  with  its  quantity.  The 
system  of  creation  is  one  in  which  "  God's  creatures  leap  not, 
but  express  a  feast,  where  all  the  guests  sit  close,  and  nothing 
wants."  It  is  also  a  feast,  where  there  is  nothing  redundant. 
So,  then,  in  distributing  our  ornament,  there  must  never  be 
any  sense  of  gap  or  blank,  neither  any  sense  of  there  being  a 
single  member,  or  fragment  of  a  member,  which  could  be 
spared.  Whatever  has  nothing  to  do,  whatever  could  go  with- 
out being  missed,  is  not  ornament ;  it  is  deformity  and  en- 
cumbrance. Away  with  it.  And,  on  the  other  hand,  care 
must  be  taken  either  to  diffuse  the  ornament  which  we  permit, 
in  due  relation  over  the  whole  building,  or  so  to  concentrate 
it,  as  never  to  leave  a  sense  of  its  having  got  into  knots,  and 
curdled  upon  some  points,  and  left  the  rest  of  the  building 
whey.  It  is  very  difficult  to  give  the  rules,  or  analyse  the 
feelings,  which  should  direct  us  in  this  matter:  for  some 
shafts  may  be  carved  and  others  left  unfinished,  and  that  with 
advantage  ;  some  windows  may  be  jewelled  like  Aladdin's, 
and  one  left  plain,  and  still  with  advantage  ;  the  door  or  doors, 
or  a  single  turret,  or  the  whole  western  facade  of  a  church, 
or  the  apse  or  transept,  may  be  made  special  subjects  of  de- 
coration, and  the  rest  left  plain,  and  still  sometimes  with  ad- 
vantage. But  in  all  such  cases  there  is  either  sign  of  that 
feeling  which  I  advocated  in  the  First  Chapter  of  the  "  Seven 
Lamps,"  the  desire  of  rather  doing  some  portion  of  the  build- 


256 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


ing  as  we  would  have  it,  and  leaving  the  rest  plain,  than  doing 
the  whole  imperfectly  ;  or  else  there  is  choice  made  of  some 
important  feature,  to  which,  as  more  honorable  than  the  rest, 
the  decoration  is  confined.  The  evil  is  when,  without  system, 
and  without  preference  of  the  nobler  members,  the  ornament 
alternates  between  sickly  luxuriance  and  sudden  blankness. 
In  many  of  our  Scotch  and  English  abbeys,  especially  Melrose, 
this  is  painfully  felt ;  but  the  worst  instance  I  have  ever  seen 
is  the  window  in  the  side  of  the  arch  under  the  Wellington 
statue,  pext  St.  George's  Hospital.  In  the  first  place,  a  win- 
dow has  no  business  there  at  all ;  in  the  second,  the  bars  of 
the  window  are  not  the  proper  place  for  decoration,  especially 
ivavy  decoration,  which  one  instantly  fancies  of  cast  iron  ;  in 
the  third,  the  richness  of  the  ornament  is  a  mere  patch  and 
eruption  upon  the  wall,  and  one  hardly  knows  whether  to  be 
most  irritated  at  the  affectation  of  severity  in  the  rest,  or  at 
the  vain  luxuriance  of  the  dissolute  parallelogram. 

§  xxxv.  Finally,  as  regards  quantity  of  ornament  I  have 
already  said,  again  and  again,  you  cannot  have  too  much  if  it 
be  good  ;  that  is,  if  it  be  thoroughly  united  and  harmonised  by 
the  laws  hitherto  insisted  upon.  But  you  may  easily  have  too 
much  if  you  have  more  than  you  have  sense  to  manage.  For 
with  every  added  order  of  ornament  increases  the  difficulty  of 
discipline.  It  is  exactly  the  same  as  in  war :  you  cannot,  as 
an  abstract  law,  have  too  many  soldiers,  but  you  may  easily 
have  more  than  the  country  is  able  to  sustain,  or  than  your 
generalship  is  competent  to  command.  And  every  regiment 
which  you  cannot  manage  will,  on  the  day  of  battle,  be  in 
your  way,  and  encumber  the  movements  it  is  not  in  disposi- 
tion to  sustain. 

§  xxxvi.  As  an  architect,  therefore,  you  are  modestly  to 
measure  your  capacity  of  governing  ornament.  Remember, 
its  essence, — its  being  ornament  at  all,  consists  in  its  being 
governed.  Lose  your  authority  over  it,  let  it  command  you, 
or  lead  you,  or  dictate  to  you  in  any  wise,  and  it  is  an  offence, 
an  incumbrance,  and  a  dishonor.  And  it  is  always  ready  to 
do  this  ;  wild  to  get  the  bit  in  its  teeth,  and  rush  forth  on  its 
own  devices.    Measure,  therefore,  your  strength  ;  and  as  long 


THE  ANGLE. 


257 


as  there  is  no  chance  of  mutiny,  acid  soldier  to  soldier,  bat- 
talion to  battalion  ;  but  be  assured  that  all  are  heartily  in  the 
cause,  and  that  there  is  not  one  of  whose  position  you  are  ig- 
norant, or  whose  service  you  could  spare. 


CHAPTER  XXn. 

THE  ANGLE. 

§  i.  We  have  now  examined  the  treatment  and  specific 
kinds  of  ornament  at  our  command.  We  have  lastly  to  note 
the  fittest  places  for  their  disposal.  Not  but  that  all  kinds  of 
ornament  are  used  in  all  places  ;  but  there  are  some  parts  of 
the  building,  which,  without  ornament,  are  more  painful  than 
others,  and  some  which  wear  ornament  more  gracefully  than 
others  ;  so  that,  although  an  able  architect  will  always  be  find- 
ing out  some  new  and  unexpected  modes  of  decoration,  and 
fitting  his  ornament  into  wonderful  places  where  it  is  least  ex- 
pected, there  are,  nevertheless,  one  or  two  general  laws  which 
may  be  noted  respecting  every  one  of  the  parts  of  a  building, 
laws  not  (except  a  few)  imperative  like  those  of  construction, 
but  yet  generally  expedient,  and  good  to  be  understood,  if  it 
were  only  that  we  might  enjoy  the  brilliant  methods  in  which 
they  are  sometimes  broken.  I  shall  note,  however,  only  a  few 
of  the  simplest ;  to  trace  them  into  their  ramifications,  and 
class  in  due  order  the  known  or  possible  methods  of  decoration 
for  each  part  of  a  building,  would  alone  require  a  large  vol- 
ume, and  be,  I  think,  a  somewhat  useless  work ;  for  there  is 
often  a  high  pleasure  in  the  very  unexpectedness  of  the  orna- 
ment, which  would  be  destroyed  by  too  elaborate  an  arrange- 
ment of  its  kinds. 

§  ii.  I  think  that  the  reader  must,  by  this  time,  so  thor- 
oughly understand  the  connection  of  the  parts  of  a  building, 
that  I  may  class  together,  in  treating  of  decoration,  several 
parts  which  I  kept  separate  in  speaking  of  construction.  Thus 
I  shall  put  under  one  head  (a)  the  base  of  the  wall  and  of  the 
shaft  ;  then  (b)  the  wall  veil  and  shaft  itself  ;  then  (c)  the 
cornice  and  capital ;  then  (d)  the  jamb  and  archivolt,  include 
Vol.  L— 17 


258 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


ing  the  arches  both  over  shafts  and  apertures,  and  the  jambs 
of  apertures,  which  are  closely  connected  with  their  archivolts  ; 
finally  (e)  the  roof,  including  the  real  roof,  and  the  minor  roofs 
or  gables  of  pinnacles  and  arches.  I  think,  under  these  divis- 
ions, all  may  be  arranged  which  is  necessary  to  be  generally 
stated ;  for  tracery  decorations  or  aperture  fillings  are  but 
smaller  forms  of  application  of  the  arch,  and  the  cusps  are 
merely  smaller  spandrils,  while  buttresses  have,  as  far  as  I 
know,  no  specific  ornament.  The  best  are  those  which  have 
least ;  and  the  little  they  have  resolves  itself  into  pinnacles, 
which  are  common  to  other  portions  of  the  building,  or  into 
small  shafts,  arches,  and  niches,  of  still  more  general  applica- 
bility. We  shall  therefore  have  only  five  divisions  to  examine 
in  succession,  from  foundation  to  roof. 

§  in.  But  in  the  decoration  of  these  several  parts,  certain 


a       b       c       d      e  f 

Fig.  LI. 


minor  conditions  of  ornament  occur  which  are  of  perfectly 
general  application.  For  instance,  whether,  in  archivolts, 
jambs,  or  buttresses,  or  in  square  piers,  or  at  the  exfremity 
of  the  entire  building,  we  necessarily  have  the  awkward 
(moral  or  architectural)  feature,  the  corner.  How  to  turn  a 
corner  gracefully  becomes,  therefore,  a  perfectly  general  ques- 
tion ;  to  be  examined  without  reference  to  any  particular  part 
of  the  edifice. 

§  iv.  Again,  the  furrows  and  ridges  by  which  bars  of  paral- 
lel light  and  shade  are  obtained,  whether  these  are  employed 
in  arches,  or  jambs,  or  bases,  or  cornices,  must  of  necessity 
present  one  or  more  of  six  forms  :  square  projection,  a  (Fig. 
LI.),  or  square  recess,  b,  sharp  projection,  c,  or  sharp  recess,  d, 
curved  projection,  e,  or  curved  recess,  f.  What  odd  curves  the 
projection  or  recess  may  assume,  or  how  these  different  condi- 
tions may  be  mixed  and  run  into  one  another,  is  not  our  pres- 
ent business*    We  note  only  the  six  distinct  kinds  or  types. 


THE  ANGLE. 


259 


Now,  when  these  ridges  or  furrows  are  on  a  small  scale  they 
often  themselves  constitute  all  the  ornament  required  for 
larger  features,  and  are  left  smooth  cut ;  but  on  a  very  large 
scale  they  are  apt  to  become  insipid,  and  they  require  a  sub- 
ornament  of  their  own,  the  consideration  of  which  is,  of  course, 
in  great  part,  general,  and  irrespective  of  the  place  held  by  the 
mouldings  in  the  building  itself  :  which  consideration  I  think 
we  had  better  undertake  first  of  all. 

§  v.  But  before  we  come  to  particular  examination  of  these 
minor  forms,  let  us  see  how  far  we  can  simplify  it.  Look 
back  to  Fig.  LI.,  above.  There  are  distinguished  in  it  six 
forms  of  moulding.  Of  these,  c  is  nothing  but  a  small  corner  ; 
but,  for  convenience  sake,  it  is  better  to  call  it  an  edge,  and  to 
consider  its  decoration  together  with  that  of  the  member  a, 
which  is  called  a  fillet ;  while  e,  which  I  shall  call  a  roll  (be- 
cause I  do  not  choose  to  assume  that  it  shall  be  only  of  the 
semicircular  section  here  given),  is  also  best  considered  to- 
gether with  its  relative  recess,  f ;  and  because  the  shape  of  a 
recess  is  of  no  great  consequence,  I  shall  class  all  the  three 
recesses  together,  and  we  shall  thus  have  only  three  subjects 
for  separate  consideration  : — 

%  The  Angle. 

2.  The  Edge  and  Fillet. 

3.  The  Roll  and  Recess. 

§  vi.  There  are  two  other  general  forms  which  may  prob- 
ably occur  to  the  reader's  mind,  namely,  the  ridge  (as  of  a 
roof),  which  is  a  corner  laid  on  its  back,  or  sloping, — a  supine 
corner,  decorated  in  a  very  different  manner  from  a  stiff  up- 
right corner  :  and  the  point,  which  is  a  concentrated  corner, 
and  has  wonderfully  elaborate  decorations  all  to  its  insignifi- 
cant self,  flnials,  and  spikes,  and  I  know  not  what  more. 
But  both  these  conditions  are  so  closely  connected  with  roofs 
(even  the  cusp  finial  being  a  kind  of  pendant  to  a  small  roof), 
that  I  think  it  better  to  class  them  and  their  ornament  under 
the  head  of  roof  decoration,  together  with  the  whole  tribe  of 
crockets  and  bosses  ;  so  that  we  shall  be  here  concerned  only 


260 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


with  the  three  subjects  above  distinguished :  and,  first,  th« 
corner  or  Angle. 

§  vii.  The  mathematician  knows  there  are  many  kinds  of 
angles  ;  but  the  one  we  have  principally  to  deal  with  now,  is 
that  which  the  reader  may  very  easily  conceive  as  the  corner 
of  a  square  house,  or  square  anything.  It  is  of  course  the 
one  of  most  frequent  occurrence  ;  and  its  treatment,  once 
understood,  may,  with  slight  modification,  be  referred  to 
other  corners,  sharper  or  blunter,  or  with  curved  sides. 

§  viii.  Evidently  the  first  and  roughest  idea  which  would 

occur  to  any  one  who  found  a 
corner  troublesome,  would  be 
to  cut  it  off.  This  is  a  very  sum- 
mary and  tyrannical  proceed- 
ing, somewhat  barbarous,  yet 
advisable  if  nothing  else  can  be 
done  :  an  amputated  corner  is 
said  to  be  chamfered.    It  can,  however,  evidently  be  cut  off 
in  three  ways  :  1.  with  a  concave  cut,  a  ;  2.  with  a  straight 
cut,  b  ;  3.  with  a  convex  cut,  c,  Fig.  LII. 

The  first  two  methods,  the  most  violent  and  summary,  have 
the  apparent  disadvantage  that  we  get  by  them, — two  corners 
instead  of  one  ;  much  milder  corners,  however,  and  with  a 
different  light  and  shade  between  them  ;  so  that  both  meth- 
ods are  often  very  expedient.  You  may  see  the  straight 
chamfer  (b)  on  most  lamp  posts,  and  pillars  at  railway  sta- 
tions, it  being  the  easiest  to  cut :  the  concave  chamfer  requires 
more  care,  and  occurs  generally  in  well-finished  but  simple 
architecture — very  beautifully  in  the  small  arches  of  the  Bro- 
letto  of  Como,  Plate  V.  ;  and  the  straight  chamfer  in  archi- 
tecture of  every  kind,  very  constantly  in  Norman  cornices  and 
arches,  as  in  Fig.  2,  Plate  IV.,  at  Sens. 

§  ix.  The  third,  or  convex  chamfer,  as  it  is  the  gentlest 
mode  of  treatment,  so  (as  in  medicine  and  morals)  it  is  very 
generally  the  best.  For  while  the  two  other  methods  produce 
two  corners  instead  of  one,  this  gentle  chamfer  does  verily 
get  rid  of  the  corner  altogether,  and  substitutes  a  soft  curve  ii; 
its  place. 


THE  ANGLE. 


261 


But  it  has,  in  the  form  above  given,  this  grave  disadvantage, 
that  it  looks  as  if  the  corner  had  been  rubbed  or  worn  off, 
blunted  by  time  and  weather,  and  in  want  of  sharpening  again. 
A  great  deal  often  depends,  and  in  such  a  case  as  this,  every- 
thing depends,  on  the  Voluntariness  of  the  ornament.  The 
work  of  time  is  beautiful  on  surfaces,  but  not  on  edges  intended 
to  be  sharp.  Even  if  we  needed  them  blunt,  we  should  not 
like  them  blunt  on  compulsion  ;  so,  to  show  that  the  bluntness 
is  our  own  ordaining,  we  will  put  a  slight  incised  line  to  mark 
off  the  rounding,  and  show  that  it  goes  no  farther  than  we 


Fig.  LIII. 


choose.  We  shall  thus  have  the  section  a,  Fig.  LIII. ;  and 
this  mode  of  turning  an  angle  is  one  of  the  very  best  ever  in- 
vented. By  enlarging  and  deepening  the  incision,  we  get  in 
succession  the  forms  b,  c,  d  ;  and  by  describing  a  small  equaj 
arc  on  each  of  the  sloping  lines  of  these  figures,  we  get  e,  f, 
g,  h. 

§  x.  I  do  not  know  whether  these  mouldings  are  called  by 
architects  chamfers  or  beads ;  but  I  think  bead  a  bad  word  for 
a  continuous  moulding,  and  the  proper  sense  of  the  word 
chamfer  is  fixed  by  Spenser  as  descriptive  not  merely  of  trun- 
cation, but  of  trench  or  furrow : — 


262 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


M  Tho  gin  you,  fond  flies,  the  cold  to  scorn, 
And,  crowing  in  pipes  made  of  green  corn, 
You  thinken  to  be  lords  of  the  year  ; 
But  eft  when  ye  count  you  freed  from  fear, 
Comes  the  breme  winter  with  chamfred  brows, 
Full  of  wrinkles  and  frosty  furrows."' 

So  I  shall  call  the  above  mouldings  beaded  chamfers,  when 
there  is  any  chance  of  confusion  with  the  plain  chamfer,  a,  or 
5,  of  Fig.  LII.  :  and  when  there  is  no  such  chance,  I  shall  use 
the  word  chamfer  only. 

§  xi.  Of  those  above  given,  b  is  the  constant  chamfer  of 

Venice,  and  a  of  Verona  : 
a  being  the  grandest  and 
best,  and  having  a  pecu- 
liar precision  and  quaint- 
ness  of  effect  about  it.  I 
found  it  twice  in  Venice, 
used  on  the  sharp  angle, 
as  at  a  and  b,  Fig.  LIV.,  a 
being  from  the  angle  of  a 
house  on  the  Rio  San 
Zulian,  and  b  from  the 
windows  of  the  church  of 
San  Stefano. 

§  xii.  There  is,  how- 
ever, evidently  another 
variety  of  the  chamfers, 
/and  g,  Fig.  LIII,  form- 
ed by  an  unbroken  curve 
instead  of  two  curves,  as 
c,  Fig.  LIV.  ;  and  when 
this,  or  the  chamfer  d,  Fig.  LIII,  is  large,  it  is  impossible  to  say 
whether  they  have  been  devised  from  the  incised  angle,  or  from 
small  shafts  set  in  a  nook,  as  at  e,  Fig.  LIV.,  or  in  the  hollow 
of  the  curved  chamfer,  as  d,  Fig.  LIV.  In  general,  however,  the 
shallow  chamfers,  a,  b,  ey  and /,  Fig.  LIII,  are  peculiar  to  south- 
ern work  ;  and  may  be  assumed  to  have  been  derived  from  the 
incised  angle,  while  the  deep  chamfers,  c,  d}  g,  h}  are  charac* 


THE  ANGLE. 


263 


teristic  of  northern  work,  and  may  be  partly  derived  or  imi- 
tated from  the  angle  shaft  ;  while,  with  the  usual  extrava 
gance  of  the  northern  architects,  they  are  cut  deeper  and 
deeper  until  we  arrive  ah  the  condition  f,  Fig.  LIV.,  which 
is  the  favorite  chamfer  at  Bourges  and  Bayeux,  and  in  other 
good  French  work. 

I  have  placed  in  the  Appendix  *  a  figure  belonging  to  this, 
subject,  but  which  cannot  interest  the  general  reader,  show- 
ing the  number  of  possible  chamfers  with  a  roll  moulding  of 
given  size. 

§  xin.  If  we  take  the  plain  chamfer,  b,  of  Fig.  LII.,  on  a 
large  scale,  as  at  a,  Fig.  LV.,  and  bead  both  its  edges,  cutting 
away  the  parts  there  shaded,  we  shall  have  a  form  much  used 
in  richly  decorated  Gothic,  both  in  England  and  Italy.  It 
might  be  more  simply  described  as  the  chamfer  a  of  Fig.  LII., 
with  an  incision  on  each  edge  ;  but  the  part  here  shaded  is 
often  worked  into  ornamental  forms,  not  being  entirely  cut 
away. 

§  xiv.  Many  other  mouldings,  which  at  first  sight  appear 
very  elaborate,  are 
nothing  more  than  a 
chamfer,  with  a  series 
of  small  echoes  of  it 
on  each  side,  dying 
away  with  a  ripple  on 
the  surface  of  the  wall, 
as  in  b,  Fig.  LV.,  from 
Coutances  (observe, 
here  the  white  part  is  the  solid  stone,  the  shade  is  cut  away.) 

Chamfers  of  this  kind  are  used  on  a  small  scale  and  in  deli- 
cate work  ;  the  coarse  chamfers  are  found  on  all  scales  :  /  and 
g,  Fig.  LIII.,  in  Venice,  form  the  great  angles  of  almost  every 
Gothic  palace  ;  the  roll  being  a  foot  or  a  foot  and  a  half  round, 
and  treated  as  a  shaft,  with  a  capital  and  fresh  base  at  every 
story,  while  the  stones  of  which  it  is  composed  form  alternate 
quoins  in  the  brick-work  beyond  the  chamfer  curve,    I  need 

*  Appendix  23  :  "  Varieties  of  Chamfer.' 2 


264 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


hardly  say  how  much  nobler  this  arrangement  is  than  a  com- 
mon quoined  angle  ;  it  gives  a  finish  to  the  aspect  of  the 
whole  pile  attainable  in  no  other  way.  And  thus  much  may 
serve  concerning  angle  decoration  by  chamfer. 


CHAPTEE  XXIII. 

THE  EDGE  AND  FILLET. 

§  l  The  decoration  of  the  angle  by  various  forms  of  cham- 
fer and  bead,  as  above  described,  is  the  quietest  method  we 
can  employ  ;  too  quiet,  when  great  energy  is  to  be  given  to 
the  moulding,  and  impossible,  when,  instead  of  a  bold  angle, 
we  have  to  deal  with  a  small  projecting  edge,  like  c  in  Fig.  LI. 
In  such  cases  we  may  employ  a  decoration,  far  ruder  and 
easier  in  its  simplest  conditions  than  the  bead,  far  more  effec- 
tive when  not  used  in  too  great  profusion  ;  and  of  which  the 
complete  developments  are  the  source  of  mouldings  at  once 
the  most  picturesque  and  most  serviceable  which  the  Gothic 
builders  invented. 

§  ii.  The  gunwales  of  the  Venetian  heavy  barges  being 
liable  to  somewhat  rough  collision  with  each  other,  and  with 
the  walls  of  the  streets,  are  generally  protected  by  a  piece  of 
timber,  which  projects  in  the  form  of  the  fillet,  a,  Fig.  LI.  • 
but  which,  like  all  other  fillets,  may,  if  we  so  choose,  be  con- 
sidered as  composed  of  two  angles  or  edges,  which  the  natural 
and  most  wholesome  love  of  the  Venetian  boatmen  for  orna- 
ment, otherwise  strikingly  evidenced  by  their  painted  sails 
and  glittering  flag-vanes,  will  not  suffer  to  remain  wholly 
undecorated.  The  rough  service  of  these  timbers,  however, 
will  not  admit  of  rich  ornament,  and  the  boatbuilder  usually 
contents  himself  with  cutting  a  series  of  notches  in  each  edge, 
one  series  alternating  with  the  other,  as  represented  at  1, 
Plate  IX. 

§  hi.  In  that  simple  ornament,  not  as  confined  to  Venetian 
boats,  but  as  representative  of  a  general  human  instinct  to 
hack  at  an  edge,  demonstrated  by  all  school-boys  and  all  idle 


THE  EDGE  AND  FILLET. 


265 


possessors  of  penknives  or  other  cutting  instruments  on  both 
sides  of  the  Atlantic  ; — in  that  rude  Venetian  gunwale,  I  say, 
is  the  germ  of  all  the  ornament  which  has  touched,  with  its 
rich  successions  of  angular  shadow,  the  portals  and  archivolts 
01  nearly  every  early  building  of  importance,  from  the  North 
Cape  to  the  Straits  of  Messina.  Nor  are  the  modifications  of 
the  first  suggestion  intricate.  All  that  is  generic  in  their 
character  may  be  seen  on  Plate  IX.  at  a  glance. 

§  iv.  Taking  a  piece  of  stone  instead  of  timber,  and  enlarg- 
ing the  notches,  until  they  meet  each  other,  we  have  the  con- 
dition 2,  which  is  a  moulding  from  the  tomb  of  the  Doge 
Andrea  Dandolo,  in  St.  Mark's.  Now,  considering  this  mould- 
ing as  composed  of  two  decorated  edges,  each  edge  will  be 
reduced,  by  the  meeting  of  the  notches,  to  a  series  of  four- 
sided  pyramids  (as  marked  off  by  the  dotted  lines),  which, 
the  notches  here  being  shallow,  will  be  shallow  pyramids; 
but  by  deepening  the  notches,  we  get  them  as  at  3,  with  a 
profile  a,  more  or  less  steep.  This  moulding  I  shall  always 
call  "  the  plain  dogtooth  ;  "  it  is  used  in  profusion  in  the  Ve- 
netian and  Veronese  Gothic,  generally  set  with  its  front  to  the 
spectator,  as  here  at  3  ;  but  its  effect  may  be  much  varied  by 
placing  it  obliquely  (4,  and  profile  as  at  b) ;  or  with  one  side 
horizontal  (5,  and  profile  c).  Of  these  three  conditions,  3  and 
5  are  exactly  the  same  in  reality,  only  differently  placed  ;  but 
in  4  the  pyramid  is  obtuse,  and  the  inclination  of  its  base  va- 
riable, the  upper  side  of  it  being  always  kept  vertical.  It  is 
comparatively  rare.  Of  the  three,  the  last,  5,  is  far  the  most 
brilliant  in  effect,  giving  in  the  distance  a  zigzag  form  to  the 
high  light  on  it,  and  a  full  sharp  shadow  below.  The  use  of 
this  shadow  is  sufficiently  seen  by  fig.  7  in  this  plate  (the  arch 
on  the  left,  the  number  beneath  it),  in  which  these  levelled 
dogteeth,  with  a  small  interval  between  each,  are  employed  to 
set  off  by  their  vigor  the  delicacy  of  floral  ornament  above. 
This  arch  is  the  side  of  a  niche  from  the  tomb  of  Can  Signorio 
della  Scala,  at  Verona ;  and  the  value,  as  well  as  the  distant 
expression  of  its  dogtooth,  may  be  seen  by  referring  to  Prout's 
beautiful  drawing  of  this  tomb  in  his  "  Sketches  in  Prance 
and  Italy."    I  have  before  observed  that  this  artist  never  fails 


266 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


of  seizing  the  true  and  leading  expression  of  whatever  he 
touches  :  he  has  made  this  ornament  the  leading  feature  of  the 
niche,  expressing  it,  as  in  distance  it  is  only  expressible,  by  a 
zigzag. 

§  v.  The  reader  may  perhaps  be  surprised  at  my  speaking 
so  highly  of  this  drawing,  if  he  take  the  pains  to  compare 
Prout's  symbolism  of  the  work  on  the  niche  with  the  facts  as 
they  stand  here  in  Plate  IX.  But  the  truth  is  that  Prout  has 
rendered  the  effect  of  the  monument  on  the  mind  of  the  passer- 
by ; — the  effect  it  was  intended  to  have  on  every  man  who 
turned  the  corner  of  the  street  beneath  it :  and  in  this  sense 
there  is  actually  more  truth  and  likeness  *  in  Prout's  transla- 
tion than  in  my  fac-simile,  made  diligently  by  peering  into  the 
details  from  a  ladder.  I  do  not  say  that  all  the  symbolism  in 
Prout's  Sketch  is  the  best  possible  ;  but  it  is  the  best  which 
any  architectural  draughtsman  has  yet  invented  ;  and  in  its 
application  to  special  subjects  it  always  shows  curious  internal 
evidence  that  the  sketch  has  been  made  on  the  spot,  and  that 
the  artist  tried  to  draw  what  he  saw,  not  to  invent  an  attrac- 
tive subject.    I  shall  notice  other  instances  of  this  hereafter. 

§  vi.  The  dogtooth,  employed  in  this  simple  form,  is,  how- 
ever, rather  a  foil  for  other  ornament,  than  itself  a  satisfactory 
or  generally  available  decoration.  It  is,  however,  easy  to  en- 
rich it  as  we  choose  :  taking  up  its  simple  form  at  3,  and  de- 
scribing the  arcs  marked  by  the  dotted  lines  upon  its  sides, 
and  cutting  a  small  triangular  cavity  between  them,  we  shall 
leave  its  ridges  somewhat  rudely  representative  of  four  leaves, 
as  at  8,  wThich  is  the  section  and  front  view  of  one  of  the  Ve- 
netian stone  cornices  described  above,  Chap.  XIV.,  §  iv.,  the 
figure  8  being  here  put  in  the  hollow  of  the  gutter.  The  dog- 
tooth is  put  on  the  outer  lower  truncation,  and  is  actually  in 
position  as  fig.  5  ;  but  being  always  looked  up  to,  is  to  the 
spectator  as  3,  and  always  rich  and  effective.  The  dogteeth 
are  perhaps  most  frequently  expanded  to  the  width  of  fig.  9. 

*  I  do  not  here  speak  of  artistical  merits,  but  the  play  of  the  ligh< 
among  the  lower  shafts  is  also  singularly  beautiful  in  this  sketch  of 
Prout's,  and  the  character  of  the  wild  and  broken  leaves,  half  dead,  on 
the  stone  of  the  foreground. 


THE  EDGE  AND  FILLET, 


§  vii.  As  in  nearly  all  other  ornaments  previously  described, 
so  in  this, — we  have  only  to  deepen  the  Italian  cutting,  and 
we  shall  get  the  Northern  type.  If  we  make  the  original  pyra- 
mid somewhat  steeper,  and  instead  of  lightly  incising,  cut  it 
through,  so  as  to  have  the  leaves  held  only  by  their  points  to 
the  base,  we  shall  have  the  English  dogtooth  ;  somewhat  vul- 
gar in  its  piquancy,  when  compared  with  French  mouldings 
of  a  similar  kind.*  It  occurs,  I  think,  on  one  house  in  Venice, 
in  the  Campo  St.  Polo  ;  but  the  ordinary  moulding,  with  light 
incisions,  is  frequent  in  archivolts  and  architraves,  as  well  as 
in  the  roof  cornices. 

§  viii.  This  being  the  simplest  treatment  of  the  pyramid, 
fig.  10,  from  the  refectory  of  Wenlock  Abbey,  is  an  example 
of  the  simplest  decoration  of  the  recesses  or  inward  angles 
between  the  pyramids  ;  that  is  to  say,  of  a  simple  hacked  edge 
like  one  of  those  in  fig.  2,  the  cuts  being  taken  up  and  decorated 
instead  of  the  points.  Each  is  worked  into  a  small  trefoiled 
arch,  with  an  incision  round  it  to  mark  its  outline,  and  another 
slight  incision  above  expressing  the  angle  of  the  first  cutting. 
I  said  that  the  teeth  in  fig.  7  had  in  distance  the  effect  of  a 
zigzag :  in  fig.  10  this  zigzag  effect  is  seized  upon  and  de- 
veloped, but  with  the  easiest  and  roughest  work ;  the  angular 
incision  being  a  mere  limiting  line,  like  that  described  in  §  ix. 
of  the  last  chapter.  But  hence  the  farther  steps  to  every  con- 
dition of  Norman  ornament  are  self  evident.  I  do  not  say 
that  all  of  them  arose  from  development  of  the  dogtooth  in 
this  manner,  many  being  quite  independent  inventions  and 
uses  of  zigzag  lines  ;  still,  they  may  all  be  referred  to  this 
simple  type  as  their  root  and  representative,  that  is  to  say,  the 
mere  hack  of  the  Venetian  gunwale,  with  a  limiting  line  fol- 
lowing the  resultant  zigzag. 

§  ix.  Fig.  11  is  a  singular  and  much  more  artificial  condi- 
tion, cast  in  brick,  from  the  church  of  the  Frari,  and  given 
here  only  for  future  reference.  Fig.  12,  resulting  from  a  fillet 
with  the  cuts  on  each  of  its  edges  interrupted  by  a  bar,  is  a 
frequent  Venetian  moulding,  and  of  great  value  ;  but  the  plain 


*  Vide  the  < '  Seven  Lamps,"  p.  128. 


268 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


or  leaved  dogteeth  have  been  the  favorites,  and  that  to  such 
degree,  that  even  the  Renaissance  architects  took  them  up  ; 
and  the  best  bit  of  Renaissance  design  in  Venice,  the  side  of 
the  Ducal  Palace  next  the  Bridge  of  Sighs,  owes  great  part  of 
its  splendor  to  its  foundation,  faced  with  large  flat  dogteeth, 
each  about  a  foot  wide  in  the  base,  with  their  points  truncated., 
and  alternating  with  cavities  which  are  their  own  negatives  or 
casts. 

§  x.  One  other  form  of  the  dogtooth  is  of  great  impor- 
tance in  northern  architecture,  that  produced  by 
oblique  cats  slightly  curved,  as  in  the  margin, 
Fig.  LVI.  It  is  susceptible  of  the  most  fantastic 
and  endless  decoration  ;  each  of  the  resulting 
leaves  being,  in  the  early  porches  of  Rouen  and 
Lisieux,  hollowed  out  and  worked  into  branching 
HHI  tracery :  and  at  Bourges,  for  distant  effect, 
worked  into  plain  leaves,  or  bold  bony  processes 
with  knobs  at  the  points,  and  near  the  spectator, 
into  crouching  demons  and  broad  winged  owls, 
and  other  fancies  and  intricacies,  innumerable 
and  inexpressible. 

§  xi.  Thus  much  is  enough  to  be  noted  respect- 
ing edge  decoration.  We  were  next  to  con- 
sider the  fillet.  Professor  "Willis  has  noticed  an  ornament, 
which  he  has  called  the  Venetian  dentil,  "  as  the  most  universal 
ornament  in  its  own  district  that  ever  I  met  with  ;  "  but  has 
not  noticed  the  reason  for  its  frequency.  It  is  nevertheless 
highly  interesting. 

The  whole  early  architecture  of  Venice  is  architecture  of 
incrustation  :  this  has  not  been  enough  noticed  in  its  peculiar 
relation  to  that  of  the  rest  of  Italy.  There  is,  indeed,  much 
incrusted  architecture  throughout  Italy,  in  elaborate  ecclesi- 
astical work,  but  there  is  more  which  is  frankly  of  brick,  or 
thoroughly  of  stone.  But  the  Venetian  habitually  incrusted 
his  work  with  macre  ;  he  built  his  houses,  even  the  meanest, 
as  if  he  had  been  a  shell-fish, — roughly  inside,  mother-of- 
pearl  on  the  surface  :  he  was  content,  perforce,  to  gather  the 
clay  of  the  Brenta  banks,  and  bake  it  into  brick  for  his  sub- 


Fig.  LVI. 


THE  EDGE  AND  FILLET. 


269 


stance  of  wall ;  but  he  overlaid  it  with  the  wealth  of  ocean, 
with  the  most  precious  foreign  marbles.  You  might  fancy 
early  Venice  one  wilderness  of  brick,  which  a  petrifying  sea 
had  beaten  upon  till  it  coated  it  with  marble  :  at  first  a  dark 
city — washed  white  by  the  sea  foam.  And  I  told  you  before 
that  it  was  also  a  city  of  shafts  and  arches,  and  that  its  dwell- 
ings were  raised  upon  continuous  arcades,  among  which  the 
sea  waves  wandered.  Hence  the  thoughts  of  its  builders 
were  early  and  constantly  directed  to  the  incrustation  ol 
arches. 

§  xu.  In  Fig.  LVII.  I  have  given  two  of  these  Byzantine 
stilted  arches :  the  one  on 
the  right,  a,  as  they  now  too 
often  appear,  in  its  bare 
brickwork  ;  that  on  the  left, 
with  its  alabaster  covering, 
literally  marble  defensive 
armor,  riveted  together  in 
pieces,  which  follow  the  con- 
tours of  the  building.  NOW,  Fig.  XVII. 
on  the  wall,  these  pieces  are  mere  flat  slabs  cut  to  the 
arch  outline  ;  but  under  the  soffit  of  the  arch  the  marble  mail 
is  curved,  often  cut  singularly  thin,  like  bent  tiles,  and  fitted 
together  so  that  the  pieces  would  sustain  each  other  even 
without  rivets.  It  is  of  course  desirable  that  this  thin  sub- 
arch  of  marble  should  project  enough  to  sustain  the  facing  of 
the  wall ;  and  the  reader  will  see,  in  Fig.  LVII,  that  its  edge 
forms  a  kind  of  narrow  band  round  the  arch  (6),  a  band  which 
the  least  enrichment  would  render  a  valuable  decorative  feat- 
ure. Now  this  band  is,  of  course,  if  the  soffit-pieces  project 
a  little  beyond  the  face  of  the  wall-pieces,  a  mere  fillet,  like 
the  wooden  gunwale  in  Plate  IX.  ;  and  the  question  is,  how  to 
enrich  it  most  wisely.  It  might  easily  have  been  dog-toothed, 
but  the  Byzantine  architects  had  not  invented  the  dogtooth, 
and  would  not  have  used  it  here,  if  they  had  ;  for  the  dogtooth 
cannot  be  employed  alone,  especially  on  so  principal  an  angle 
as  this  of  the  main  arches,  without  giving  to  the  whole  build- 
ing a  peculiar  look,  which  I  can  no  otherwise  describe  than  as 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


being  to  the  eye,  exactly  what  untempered  acid  is  to  the 
tongue.  The  mere  dogtooth  is  an  acid  moulding,  and  can 
only  be  used  in  certain  mingling  with  others,  to  give  them 
piquancy  ;  never  alone.  What,  then,  will  be  the  next  easiest 
method  of  giving  interest  to  the  fillet  ? 

§  xin.  Simply  to  make  the  incisions  square  instead  of  sharp, 
and  to  leave  equal  intervals  of  the  square  edge  between  them. 
Fig.  LVII1.  is  one  of  the  curved  pieces  of  arch  armor,  with  its 
edge  thus  treated ;  one  side  only  being  done 
at  the  bottom,  to  show  the  simplicity  and  ease 
of  the  work.  This  ornament  gives  force  and 
interest  to  the  edge  of  the  arch,  without  in  the 
least  diminishing  its  quietness.  Nothing  was 
ever,  nor  could  be  ever  invented,  fitter  for  its 
purpose,  or  more  easily  cut.  From  the  arch  it 
therefore  found  its  way  into  every  position 
where  the  edge  of  a  piece  of  stone  projected, 
and  became,  from  its  constancy  of  occurrence 
in  the  latest  Gothic  as  well  as  the  earliest  Byzan- 
tine, most  truly  deserving  of  the  name  of  the 
"  Venetian  Dentil."  Its  complete  intention  is 
now,  however,  only' to  be  seen  in  the  pictures 
of  Gentile  Bellini  and  Vittor  Carpaccio  ;  for, 
like  most  of  the  rest  of  the  mouldings  of  Vene- 
tian buildings,  it  was  always  either  gilded  or 
painted — often  both,  gold  being  laid  on  the 
faces  of  the  dentils,  and  their  recesses  colored 
alternately  red  and  blue. 

§  xiv.  Observe,  however,  that  the  reason  above 
given  for  the  universality  of  this  ornament  was  by 
no  means  the  reason  of  its  invention.  The  Venetian  dentil  is  a 
particular  application  (consequent  on  the  incrusted  character 
of  Venetian  architecture)  of  the  general  idea  of  dentil,  which 
had  been  originally  given  by  the  Greeks,  and  realised  both  by 
them  and  by  the  Byzantines  in  many  laborious  forms,  long  be- 
fore there  was  need  of  them  for  arch  armor  ;  and  the  lower 
half  of  Plate  IX.  will  give  some  idea  of  the  conditions  whick 
occur  in  the  Bomanesque  of  Venice,  distinctly  derived  from  the 


Fig.  LVHI. 


THE  EDGE  AND  FILLET. 


271 


glassical  dentil  ;  and  of  the  gradual  transition  to  the  more 
convenient  and  simple  type,  the  running-hand  dentil,  which 
afterwards  became  the  characteristic  of  Venetian  Gothic. 
No.  13  *  is  the  common  dentiled  cornice,  which  occurs  re- 
peatedly in  St.  Mark's  ;  and,  as  late  as  the  thirteenth  century, 
a  reduplication  of  it,  forming  the  abaci  of  the  capitals  of  the 
Piazzetta  shafts.  Fig.  15  is  perhaps  an  earlier  type  ;  per- 
haps only  one  of  more  careless  workmanship,  from  a  Byzan- 
tine ruin  in  the  Bio  di  Ca'  Foscari  :  and  it  is  interesting  to 
compare  it  wTith  fig.  14  from  the  Cathedral  of  Vienne,  in 
South  France.  Fig.  17,  from  St.  Mark's,  and  18,  from  the 
apse  of  Murano,  are  two  very  early  examples  in  which  the 
future  true  Venetian  dentil  is  already  developed  in  method 
of  execution,  though  the  object  is  still  only  to  imitate  the 
classical  one  ;  and  a  rude  imitation  of  the  bead  is  joined  with 
it  in  fig.  17.  No.  16  indicates  two  examples  of  experimental 
forms  :  the  uppermost  from  the  tomb  of  Mastino  della  Scala, 
at  Verona  ;  the  lower  from  a  door  in  Venice,  I  believe,  of  the 
thirteenth  century :  19  is  a  more  frequent  arrangement, 
chiefly  found  in  cast  brick,  and  connecting  the  dentils  with 
the  dogteeth  :  20  is  a  form  introduced  richly  in  the  later 
Gothic,  but  of  rare  occurrence  until  the  latter  half  of  the 
thirteenth  century.  I  shall  call  it  the  gabled  dontil.  It  is 
found  in  the  greatest  profusion  in  sepulchral  Gothic,  associ- 
ated with  several  slight  variations  from  the  usual  dentil  type, 
of  which  No.  21,  from  the  tomb  of  Pietro  Cornaro,  may  serve 
as  an  example. 

§  xv.  All  the  forms  given  in  Plate  IX.  are  of  not  unfrequent 
occurrence  :  varying  much  in  size  and  depth,  according  to  the 
expression  of  the  work  in  which  they  occur  ;  generally  in- 
creasing in  size  in  late  wTork  (the  earliest  dentils  are  seldom 
more  than  an  inch  or  an  inch  and  a  half  long :  the  fully  de- 
veloped dentil  of  the  later  Gothic  is  often  as  much  as  four  or 
five  in  length,  by  one  and  a  half  in  breadth) ;  but  they  are  all 
somewhat  rare,  compared  to  the  true  or  armor  dentil,  above 

*  The  sections  of  all  the  mouldings  are  given  on  the  right  of  each  ; 
the  part  which  is  constantly  solid  being  shaded,  and  that  which  is  cu£ 
into  dentils  left. 


272 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


described.  On  the  other  hand,  there  are  one  or  two  unique 
conditions,  which  will  be  noted  in  the  buildings  where  they 
occur.*  The  Ducal  Palace  furnishes  three  anomalies  in  the 
arch,  dogtooth,  and  dentil :  it  has  a  hyperbolic  arch,  as  noted 
above,  Chap.  X.,  §  xv.  ;  it  has  a  double-fanged  dogtooth  in  the 
rings  of  the  spiral  shafts  on  its  angles  ;  and,  finally,  it  has  a 
dentil  with  concave  sides,  of  which  the  section  and  two  of  the 
blocks,  real  size,  are  given  in  Plate  XIV.  The  labor  of  ob- 
taining this  difficult  profile  has,  however,  been  thrown  away  ; 
for  the  effect  of  the  dentil  at  ten  feet  distance  is  exactly  the 
same  as  that  of  the  usual  form  :  and  the  reader  may  consider 
the  dogtooth  and  dentil  in  that  plate  as  fairly  representing 
the  common  use  of  them  in  the  Venetian  Gothic. 

§  xvi.  I  am  aware  of  no  other  form  of  fillet  decoration  re- 
quiring notice  :  in  the  Northern  Gothic,  the  fillet  is  employed 
chiefly  to  give  severity  or  flatness  to  mouldings  supposed  to 
be  too  much  rounded,  and  is  therefore  generally  plain.  It  is 
itself  an  ugly  moulding,  and,  when  thus  employed,  is  merely 
a  foil  for  others,  of  which,  however,  it  at  last  usurped  the 
place,  and  became  one  of  the  most  painful  features  in  the  de 
based  Gothic  both  of  Italy  and  the  North. 


CHAPTEK  XXIV. 

THE    ROLL    AND  RECESS. 

§  i.  I  have  classed  these  two  means  of  architectural  effect 
together,  because  the  one  is  in  most  cases  the  negative  of  the 
other,  and  is  used  to  relieve  it  exactly  as  shadow  relieves  light ; 
recess  alternating  with  roll,  not  only  in  lateral,  but  in  succes- 
sive order  ;  not  merely  side  by  side  with  each  other,  but  inter- 
rupted the  one  by  the  other  in  their  own  lines.    A  recess  itself 

*  As,  however,  we  shall  not  probably  be  led  either  to  Bergamo  or 
Bologna,  I  may  mention  here  a  curiously  rich  use  of  the  dentil,  entirely 
covering  the  foliation  and  tracery  of  a  niche  on  the  outside  of  the 
duomo  of  Bergamo  ;  and  a  roll,  entirely  incrusted,  as  the  handle  of  a 
mace  often  is  with  nails,  with  massy  dogteeth  or  nail-heads,  on  the 
door  of  the  Pepoli  palace  of  Bologna. 


THE  ROLL  AND  RECESS. 


273 


has  properly  no  decoration  ;  but  its  depth  gives  value  to  the 
decoration  which  flanks,  encloses,  or  interrupts  it,  and  the 
form  which  interrupts  it  best  is  the  roll. 

§  m  I  use  the  word  roll  generally  for  any  mouldings  which 
present  to  the  eye  somewhat  the  appearance  of  being  cylindri- 
cal, and  look  like  round  rods,  "When  upright,  they  are  in  ap- 
pearance, if  not  in  fact,  small  shafts  ;  and  are  a  kind  of  bent 
shaft,  even  when  used  in  archivolts  and  traceries  ; — when  hori- 
zontal, they  confuse  themselves  with  cornices,  and  are,  in  fact, 
generally  to  be  considered  as  the  best  means  of  drawing  an 
architectural  line  in  any  direction,  the  soft  curve  of  their  side 
obtaining  some  shadow  at  nearly  all  times  of  the  day,  and  that 
more  tender  and  grateful  to  the  eye  than  can  be  obtained 
either  by  an  incision  or  by  any  other  form  of  projection. 

§  in.  Their  decorative  power  is,  however,  too  slight  for  rich 
work,  and  they  frequently  require,  like  the  angle  and  the  fillet, 
to  be  rendered  interesting  by  subdivision  or  minor  ornament 
of  their  own.  When  the  roll  is  small,  this  is  effected,  exactly 
as  in  the  case  of  the  fillet,  by  cutting  pieces  out  of  it ;  giving 
in  the  simplest  results  what  is  called  the  Norman  billet  mould- 
ing :  and  when  the  cuts  are  given  in  couples,  and  the  pieces 
rounded  into  spheres  and  almonds,  we  have  the  ordinary 
Greek  bead,  both  of  them  too  well  known  to  require  illustra- 
tion. The  Norman  billet  we  shall  not  meet  with  in  Venice  ; 
the  bead  constantly  occurs  in  Byzantine,  and  of  course  in 
Eenaissance  work.  In  Plate  IX.,  Fig.  17,  there  is  a  remarka- 
ble example  of  its  early  treatment,  where  the  cuts  in  it  are  left 
sharp. 

§  iv.  But  the  roll,  if  it  be  of  any  size,  deserves  better  treat- 
ment. Its  rounded  surface  is  too  beautiful  to  be  cut  away  in 
notches  ;  and  it  is  rather  to  be  covered  with  flat  chasing  or  in- 
laid patterns.  Thus  ornamented,  it  gradually  blends  itself 
with  the  true  shaft,  both  in  the  Komanesque  work  of  the 
North,  and  in  the  Italian  connected  schools ;  and  the  patterns 
used  for  it  are  those  "used  for  shaft  decoration  in  general. 

§  v.  But,  as  alternating  with  the  recess,  it  has  a  decoration 
peculiar  to  itself.  W7e  have  often,  in  the  preceding  chapters, 
noted  the  fondness  of  the  Northern  builders  for  deep  shade 
Vol.  L— 18 


274 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


and  hollowness  in  their  mouldings  ;  and  in  the  second  chapter 
of  the  "  Seven  Lamps,"  the  changes  are  described  which  re- 
duced the  massive  roll  mouldings  of  the  early  Gothic  to  a 
series  of  recesses,  separated  by  bars  of  light.  The  shape  of 
these  recesses  is  at  present  a  matter  of  no  importance  to  us  : 
it  was,  indeed,  endlessly  varied  ;.but  needlessly,  for  the  value 
of  a  recess  is  in  its  darkness,  and  its  darkness  disguises  its 
form.  But  it  was  not  in  mere  wanton  indulgence  of  their  love 
of  shade  that  the  Flamboyant  builders  deepened  the  furrows 
of  their  mouldings  :  they  had  found  a  means  of  decorating 
those  furrows  as  rich  as  it  was  expressive,  and  the  entire 
framework  of  their  architecture  was  designed  with  a  view  to 
the  effect  of  this  decoration  ;  where  the  ornament  ceases,  the 
framework  is  meagre  and  mean  :  but  the  ornament  is,  in  the 
best  examples  of  the  style,  unceasing. 

§  vi.  It  is,  in  fact,  an  ornament  formed  by  the  ghosts  or 
anatomies  of  the  old  shafts,  left  in  the  furrows  which  had 
taken  their  place.  Every  here  and  there,  a  fragment  of  a  roll 
or  shaft  is  left  in  the  recess  or  furrow  :  a  billet-moulding  on  a 
huge  scale,  but  a  billet-moulding  reduced  to  a  skeleton  ;  for 
the  fragments  of  roll  are  cut  hollow,  and  worked  into  mere 
entanglement  of  stony  fibres,  with  the  gloom  of  the  recess 
shown  through  them.  These  ghost  rolls,  forming  sometimes 
pedestals,  sometimes  canopies,  sometimes  covering  the  whole 
recess  with  an  arch  of  tracery,  beneath  which  it  runs  like  a 
tunnel,  are  the  peculiar  decorations  of  the  Flamboyant  Gothic. 

§  vii.  Now  observe,  in  all  kinds  of  decoration,  we  must 
keep  carefully  under  separate  heads,  the  consideration  of  the 
changes  wrought  in  the  mere  physical  form,  and  in  the  intel- 
lectual purpose  of  ornament.  The  relations  of  the  canopy  to 
the  statue  it  shelters,  are  to  be  considered  altogether  distinctly 
from  those  of  the  canopy  to  the  building  which  it  decorates. 
In  its  earliest  conditions  the  canopy  is  partly  confused  with 
representations  of  miniature  architecture  :  it  is  sometimes  a 
small  temple  or  gateway,  sometimes  a  honorary  addition  to 
the  pomp  of  a  saint,  a  covering  to  his  throne,  or  to  his  shrine ) 
and  this  canopy  is  often  expressed  in  bas-relief  (as  in  painting), 
without  much  reference  to  the  great  requirements  of  the  build- 


TEE  ROLL  AND  RECESS. 


275 


ing.  At  other  times  it  is  a  real  protection  to  the  statue,  and  is 
enlarged  into  a  complete  pinnacle,  carried  on  proper  shafts, 
and  boldly  roofed.  But  in  the  late  northern  system  the  cano- 
pies are  neither  expressive  nor  protective.  They  are  a  kind 
of  stone  lace-work,  required  for  the  ornamentation  of  the  build- 
ing, for  which  the  statues  are  often  little  more  than  an  excuse, 
and  of  which  the  physical  character  is,  as  above  described,  that 
of  ghosts  of  departed  shafts. 

§  vni.  There  is,  of  course,  much  rich  tabernacle  work  which 
will  not  come  literally  under  this  head,  much  which  is  strag- 
gling or  flat  in  its  plan,  connecting  itself  gradually  with  the 
ordinary  forms  of  independent  shrines  and  tombs  ;  but  the 
general  idea  of  all  tabernacle  work  is  marked  in  the  common 
phrase  of  a  "  niche/'  that  is  to  say  a  hollow  intended  for  a 
statue,  and  crowned  by  a  canopy  ;  and  this  niche  decoration 
only  reaches  its  full  development  when  the  Flamboyant  hol- 
lows are  cut  deepest,  and  when  the  manner  and  spirit  of  sculpt- 
ure had  so  much  lost  their  purity  and  intensity  that  it  became 
desirable  to  draw  the  eye  away  from  the  statue  to  its  cover- 
ing, so  that  at  last  the  canopy  became  the  more  important  of 
the  two,  and  is  itself  so  beautiful  that  we  are  often  contented 
with  architecture  from  which  profanity  has  struck  the  statues, 
if  only  the  canopies  are  left  ;  and  consequently,  in  our  modern 
ingenuity,  even  set  up  canopies  where  we  have  no  intention 
of  setting  statues. 

§  ix.  It  is  a  pity  that  thus  w^e  have  no  really  noble  example 
of  the  effect  of  the  statue  in  the  recesses  of  architecture  :  for 
the  Flamboyant  recess  was  not  so  much  a  preparation  for  it 
as  a  gulf  which  swallowed  it  up.  When  statues  were  most 
earnestly  designed,  they  were  thrust  forward  in  all  kinds  of 
places,  often  in  front  of  the  pillars,  as  at  Amiens,  awkwardly 
enough,  but  with  manly  respect  to  the  purpose  of  the  figures. 
The  Flamboyant  hollows  yawned  at  their  sides,  the  statues 
fell  back  into  them,  and  nearly  disappeared,  and  a  flash  of 
flame  in  the  shape  of  a  canopy  rose  as  they  expired. 

§  x.  I  do  not  feel  myself  capable  at  present  of  speaking 
with  perfect  justice  of  this  niche  ornament  of  the  north,  my 
late  studies  in  Italy  having  somewhat  destroyed  my  sympa* 


276 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


thies  with  it.  But  I  once  loved  it  intensely,  and  will  not  say 
anything  to  depreciate  it  now,  save  only  this,  that  while  1 
have  studied  long  at  Abbeville,  without  in  the  least  finding 
that  it  made  me  care  less  for  Verona,  I  never  remained  long 
in  Verona  without  feeling  some  doubt  of  the  nobility  of  Abbe- 
ville. 

§  xi.  Eecess  decoration  by  leaf  mouldings  is  constantly 
and  beautifully  associated  in  the  north  with  niche  decoration, 
but  requires  no  special  notice,  the  recess  in  such  cases  being 
used  merely  to  give  value  to  the  leafage  by  its  gloom,  and  the 
difference  between  such  conditions  and  those  of  the  south 
being  merely  that  in  the  one  the  leaves  are  laid  across  a  hol- 
low, and  in  the  other  over  a  solid  surface  ;  but  in  neither  of 
the  schools  exclusively  so,  each  in  some  degree  intermingling 
the  method  of  the  other. 

§  xii.  Finally  the  recess  decoration  by  the  ball  flower  is 
very  definite  and  characteristic,  found,  I  believe,  chiefly  in 
English  work.  It  consists  merely  in  leaving  a  small  boss 
or  sphere,  fixed,  as  it  were,  at  intervals  in  the  hollows ;  such 
bosses  being  afterwards  carved  into  roses,  or  other  ornamental 
forms,  and  sometimes  lifted  quite  up  out  of  the  hollow,  on 
projecting  processes,  like  vertebrae,  so  as  to  make  them  more 
conspicuous,  as  throughout  the  decoration  of  the  cathedral  of 
Bourges. 

The  value  of  this  ornament  is  chiefly  in  the  spotted  char- 
acter which  it  gives  to  the  lines  of  mouldings  seen  from  a  dis- 
tance. It  is  very  rich  and  delightful  when  not  used  in  excess  ; 
but  it  would  satiate  and  weary  the  eye  if  it  were  ever  used  in 
general  architecture.  The  spire  of  Salisbury,  and  of  St. 
Mary's  at  Oxford,  are  agreeable  as  isolated  masses  ;  but  if  an 
entire  street  were  built  with  this  spotty  decoration  at  every 
casement,  we  could  not  traverse  it  to  the  end  without  disgust. 
It  is  only  another  example  of  the  constant  aim  at  piquancy  of 
effect  which  characterised  the  northern  builders  ;  an  ingenious 
but  somewhat  vulgar  effort  to  give  interest  to  their  grey 
masses  of  coarse  stone,  without  overtaking  their  powers  either 
of  invention  or  execution.  We  will  thank  them  for  it  without 
blame  or  praise,  and  pass  on. 


THE  BASE. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE  BASE. 

§  i.  We  know  now  as  much  as  is  needful  respecting  the 
methods  of  minor  and  universal  decorations,  which  were  dis- 
tinguished in  Chapter  XXII.,  §  in.,  from  the  ornament  which 
has  special  relation  to  particular  parts.  This  local  ornament, 
which,  it  will  be  remembered,  we  arranged  in  §  h.  of  the  same 
chapter  under  five  heads,  we  have  next,  under  those  heads,  to 
consider.  And,  first,  the  ornament  of  the  bases,  both  of  walls 
and  shafts. 

It  was  noticed  in  our  account  of  the  divisions  of  a  wall,  that 
there  are  something  in  those  divisions  like  the  beginning,  the 
several  courses,  and  the  close  of  a  human  life.  And  as,  in  all 
well-conducted  lives,  the  hard  work,  and  roughing,  and  gain- 
ing of  strength  come  first,  the  honor  or  decoration  in  certain 
intervals  during  their  course,  but  most  of  ail  in  their  close,  so, 
in  general,  the  base  of  the  wall,  which  is  its  beginning  of  labor, 
will  bear  least  decoration,  its  body  more,  especially  those 
epochs  of  rest  called  its  string  courses  ;  but  its  crown  or  cor- 
nice most  of  all.  Still,  in  some  buildings,  all  these  are  dec- 
orated richly,  though  the  last  most ;  and  in  others,  when  the 
base  is  well  protected  and  yet  conspicuous,  it  may  probably 
receive  even  more  decoration  than  other  parts. 

§  ii.  Now,  the  main  things  to  be  expressed  in  a  base  are  its 
levelness  and  evenness.  We  cannot  do  better  than  construct 
the  several  members  of  the  base,  as  developed  in  Fig.  II.,  p. 
66,  each  of  a  different  colored  marble,  so  as  to  produce 
marked  level  bars  of  color  all  along  the  foundation.  This  is 
exquisitely  done  in  all  the  Italian  elaborate  wall  bases ;  that 
of  St.  Anastasia  at  Verona  is  one  of  the  most  perfect  existing, 
for  play  of  color  ;  that  of  Giotto's  campanile  is  on  the  whole 
the  most  beautifully  finished.  Then,  on  the  vertical  portion ss 
a,  b,  c,  we  may  put  what  patterns  in  mosaic  we  please,  so  that 
they  be  not  too  rich  ;  but  if  we  choose  rather  to  have  sculpture 
(or  must  have  it  for  want  of  stones  to  inlay),  then  observe  that 
all  sculpture  on  bases  must  be  in  panels,  or  it  will  soon  be  *\ 


278 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


worn  away,  and  that  a  plain  panelling  is  often  good  without 
any  other  ornament.  The  member  6,  which  in  St.  Mark's  is 
subordinate,  and  c,  which  is  expanded  into  a  seat,  are  both  of 
them  decorated  with  simple  but  exquisitely-finished  panelling, 
in  red  and  white  or  green  and  white  marble  ;  and  the  mem- 
ber e  is  in  bases  of  this  kind  very  valuable,  as  an  expression 
of  a  firm  beginning  of  the  substance  of  the  wall  itself.  This 
member  has  been  of  no  service  to  us  hitherto,  and  was  unno- 
ticed in  the  chapters  on  construction  ;  but  it  was  expressed 
in  the  figure  of  the  wall  base,  on  account  of  its  great  value 
when  the  foundation  is  of  stone  and  the  wall  of  brick  (coated 
or  not).  In  such  cases  it  is  always  better  to  add  the  course  e, 
above  the  slope  of  the  base,  than  abruptly  to  begin  the  com- 
mon masonry  of  the  wall. 

§  in.  It  is,  however,  with  the  member  d,  or  Xb,  that  we  are 
most  seriously  concerned  ;  for  this  being  the  essential  feature 
of  all  bases,  and  the  true  preparation  for  the  wall  or  shaft, 
it  is  most  necessary  that  here,  if  anywhere,  we  should  have 
full  expression  of  levelness  and  precision  ;  and  farther,  that, 
if  possible,  the  eye  should  not  be  suffered  to  rest  on  the 
points  of  junction  of  the  stones,  which  would  give  an  effect  of 
instability.  Both  these  objects  are  accomplished  by  attracting 
the  eye  to  two  rolls,  separated  by  a  deep  hollow,  in  the  mem- 
ber d  itself.  The  bold  projections  of  their  mouldings  entirely 
prevent  the  attention  from  being  drawn  to  the  joints  of  the 
masonry,  and  besides  form  a  simple  but  beautifully  connected 
group  of  bars  of  shadow,  which  express,  in  their  perfect  paral- 
lelism, the  absolute  levelness  of  the  foundation. 

§  rv.  I  need  hardly  give  any  perspective  drawing  of  an  ar- 
rangement which  must  be  perfectly  familiar  to  the  reader,  as 
occurring  under  nearly  every  column  of  the  too  numerous 
classical  buildings  all  over  Europe.  But  I  may  name  the  base 
of  the  Bank  of  England  as  furnishing  a  very  simple  instance 
of  the  group,  with  a  square  instead  of  a  rounded  hollow,  both 
forming  the  base  of  the  wall,  and  gathering  into  that  of  the 
shafts  as  they  occur  ;  while  the  bases  of  the  pillars  of  the 
facade  of  the  British  Museum  are  as  good  examples  as  th$ 
reader  can  study  on  a  larger  scale. 


THE  BASE. 


279 


§  v.  I  believe  this  group  of  mouldings  was  first  invented 
by  the  Greeks,  and  it  has  never  been  materially  improved,  as 
far  as  its  peculiar  purpose  is  concerned  ;  *  the  classical  at- 
tempts at  its  variation  being  the  ugliest :  one,  the  using  a 
single  roll  of  larger  size,  as  may  be  seen  in  the  Duke  of  York's 
column,  which  therefore  looks  as  if  it  stood  on  a  large  saus- 
age (the  Monument  has  the  same  base,  but  more  concealed 
by  pedestal  decoration) :  another,  the  using  two  rolls  without 
the  intermediate  cavetto, — a  condition  hardly  less  awkward, 
and  which  may  be  studied  to  advantage  in  the  wall  and  shaft- 
bases  of  the  Athena3um  Club-house  :  and  another,  the  intro- 
duction of  what  are  called  fillets  between  the  rolls,  as  may  be 
seen  in  the  pillars  of  Hanover  Chapel,  Regent  Street,  which 
look,  in  consequence,  as  if  they  were  standing  upon  a  pile  of 
pewter  collection  plates.  But  the  only  successful  changes 
have  been  mediaeval ;  and  their  nature  will  be  at  once  under- 
stood by  a  glance  at  the  varieties  given  on  the  opposite  page. 
It  will  be  well  first  to  give  the  buildings  in  which  they  occur, 
in  order. 


1.  Santa  Fosca,  Torcello. 

2.  North    transept,    St.  Mark's, 

Venice. 

3.  Nave,  Torcello. 

4.  Nave,  Torcello. 

5.  South  transept,  St.  Mark's. 

6.  Northern  portico,  upper  shafts, 

St.  Mark's. 

7.  Another  of  the  same  group. 

8.  Cortile  of  St.  Ambrogio,  Milan. 

9.  Nave  shafts,  St.  Michele,  Pavia. 

10.  Outside  wall  base,  St.  Mark's, 

Venice. 

11.  Fondaco  de'  Turchi,  Venice. 

12.  Nave,  Vienne,  France. 

13.  Fondaco  de'  Turchi,  Venice. 


14.  Ca"  Giustiniani,  Venice. 

15.  Byzantine  fragment,  Venice. 

16.  St.  Mark's,  upper  Colonnade. 

17.  Ducal    Palace,   Venice  (win« 

dows). 

18.  Ca'  Falier,  Venice. 

19.  St.  Zeno,  Verona. 

20.  San  Stefano,  Venice. 

21.  Ducal  Palace,  Venice(windows) 

22.  Nave,  Salisbury. 

23.  Santa  Fosca,  Torcello. 

24.  Nave,  Lyons  Cathedral. 

25.  Notre  Dame,  Dijon. 

26.  Nave,  Bourges  Cathedral. 

27.  Nave,  Mortain  (Normandy). 

28.  Nave,  Rouen  Cathedral. 


*  Another  most  important  reason  for  the  peculiar  sufficiency  and 
value  of  this  base,  especially  as  opposed  to  the  bulging  forms  of  the  sin- 
gle or  double  roll,  without  the  cavetto,  has  been  suggested  by  the  writer 


280 


THE  8T0NES  OF  VENICE. 


§  vi.  Eighteen  out  of  the  twenty-eight  varieties  are  Vene- 
tian, being  bases  to  which  I  shall  have  need  of  future  refer* 
ence  ;  but  the  interspersed  examples,  8,  9,  12,  and  19,  from. 
Milan,  Pavia,  Vienne  (France),  and  Verona,  show  the  exactly 
correspondent  conditions  of  the  Komanesque  base  at  the 
period,  throughout  the  centre  of  Europe.  The  last  five  ex- 
amples show  the  changes  effected  by  the  French  Gothic  archi- 
tects :  the  Salisbury  base  (22)  I  have  only  introduced  to  show 
its  dulness  and  vulgarity  beside  them  ;  and  23,  from  Torcello, 
for  a  special  reason,  in  that  place. 

§  vii.  The  reader  will  observe  that  the  two  bases,  8  and  9, 
from  the  two  most  important  Lombardic  churches  of  Italy, 
St.  Ambrogio  of  Milan  and  St.  Michele  of  Pavia,  mark  the 
character  of  the  barbaric  base  founded  on  pure  Roman 
models,  sometimes  approximating  to  such  models  very  closely  ; 
and  the  varieties  10,  11,  13,  16  are  Bj^zantine  types,  also 
founded  on  Roman  models.  But  in  the  bases  1  to  7  inclus- 
ive, and,  still  more  characteristically,  in  23  below,  there  is 
evidently  an  original  element,  a  tendency  to  use  the  fillet  and 
hollow  instead  of  the  roll,  which  is  eminently  Gothic  ;  which 
in  the  base  3  reminds  one  even  of  Flamboyant  conditions, 
and  is  excessively  remarkable  as  occurring  in  Italian  work  cer- 
tainly not  later  than  the  tenth  century,  taking  even  the  date 
of  the  last  rebuilding  of  the  Duomo  of  Torcello,  though  I  am 
strongly  inclined  to  consider  these  bases  portions  of  the  orig- 
inal church.  And  I  have  therefore  put  the  base  23  among 
the  Gothic  group  to  which  it  has  so  strong  relationship, 
though,  on  the  last  supposition,  five  centuries  older  than  the 
earliest  of  the  five  terminal  examples  ;  and  it  is  still  more  re= 
markable  because  it  reverses  the  usual  treatment  of  the  lower 
roll,  which  is  in  general  a  tolerably  accurate  test  of  the  age  of 
a  base,  in  the  degree  of  its  projection.  Thus,  in  the  ex- 
amples 2,  3,  4,  5,  9,  10,  12,  the  lower  roll  is  hardly  rounded 
at  all,  and  diametrically  opposed  to  the  late  Gothic  conditions, 
24  to  28,  in  which  it  advances  gradually,  like  a  wave  preparing 

of  the  Essay  on  the  ^Esthetics  of  Gothic  Architecture  in  the  British 
Quarterly  for  August,  1849  : — "  The  Attic  base  recedes  at  the  point 
where,  if  it  suffered  from  superincumbent  weight,  it  would  bulge  out." 


THE  BASE. 


281 


to  break,  and  at  last  is  actually  seen  curling  over  with  the  long- 
backed  rush  of  surf  upon  the  shore.  Yet  the  Torcello  base 
resembles  these  Gothic  ones  both  in  expansion  beneath  and 
in  depth  of  cavetto  above. 

§  viii.  There  can  be  no  question  of  the  ineffable  superiority 
of  these  Gothic  bases,  in  grace  of  profile,  to  any  ever  invented 
by  the  ancients.  But  they  have  all  two  great  faults  :  They 
seem,  in  the  first  place,  to  have  been  designed  without  suffi- 
cient reference  to  the  necessity  of  their  being  usually  seen 
from  above  ;  their  grace  of  profile  cannot  be  estimated  when 
so  seen,  and  their  excessive  expansion  gives  them  an  appear- 
ance of  flatness  and  separation  from  the  shaft,  as  if  they  had 
splashed  out  under  its  pressure  :  in  the  second  place  their 
cavetto  is  so  deeply  cut  that  it  has  the  appearance  of  a  black 
fissure  between  the  members  of  the  base ;  and  in  the  Lyons 
and  Bourges  shafts,  24  and  26,  it  is  impossible  to  conquer  the 
idea  suggested  by  it,  that  the  two  stones  above  and  below  have 
been  intended  to  join  close,  but  that  some  pebbles  have  got  in 
and  kept  them  from  fitting  ;  one  is  always  expecting  the 
pebbles  to  be  crushed,  and  the  shaft  to  settle  into  its  place 
with  a  thunder-clap. 

§  ix.  For  these  reasons,  I  said  that  the  profile  of  the  pure 
classic  base  had  hardly  been  materially  improved  ;  but  the 
various  conditions  of  it  are  beautiful  or  commonplace,  in  pro- 
portion to  the  variety  of  proportion  among  their  lines  and  the 
delicacy  of  their  curvatures  ;  that  is  to  say,  the  expression  of 
characters  like  those  of  the  abstract  lines  in  Plate  VII. 

The  five  best  profiles  in  Plate  X.  are  10,  17,  19,  20,  21  ;  10 
is  peculiarly  beautiful  in  the  opposition  between  the  bold  pro- 
jection of  its  upper  roll,  and  the  delicate  leafy  curvature  of  iVs 
lower  ;  and  this  and  21  may  be  taken  as  nearly  perfect  types, 
the  one  of  the  steep,  the  other  of  the  expansive  basic  profiles. 
The  characters  of  all,  however,  are  so  dependent  upon  their 
place  and  expression,  that  it  is  unfair  to  judge  them  thus  sepa- 
rately ;  and  the  precision  of  curvature  is  a  matter  of  so  small 
consequence  in  general  effect,  that  we  need  not  here  pursue 
the  subject  farther. 

§  x.  We  have  thus  far,  however,  considered  only  the  line* 


282 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


of  moulding  in  the  member  X  b,  whether  of  wall  or  shaft  base. 
But  the  reader  will  remember  that  in  our  best  shaft  base,  in 
Fig.  XII.  (p.  87),  certain  props  or  spurs  were  applied  to  the 

L—  slope  of  X  b  ;   but  now 

\  "^-^^^        ^  that  X  b  is  divided  into 


VII.,  will  be  of  some  such  form  as  the  triangle  c  e  d,  Fig. 


§  xi.  Now  it  has  just  been  stated  that  it  is  of  small  impor- 
tance whether  the  abstract  lines  of  the  profile  of  a  base  mould- 
ing be  fine  or  not,  because  we  rarely  stoop  down  to  look  at 
them.  But  this  triangular  spur  is  nearly  always  seen  from 
above,  and  the  eye  is  drawn  to  it  as  one  of  the  most  important 
features  of  the  whole  base  ;  therefore  it  is  a  point  of  immediate 
necessity  to  substitute  for  its  harsh  right  lines  (c  d,  c  e)  some 
curve  of  noble  abstract  character. 

§  xii.  I  mentioned,  in  speaking  of  the  line  of  the  salvia  leaf 
at  p.  224,  that  I  had  marked  off  the  portion  of  it,  x  y,  because 
I  thought  it  likely  to  be  generally  useful  to  us  afterwards  ;  and 
I  promised  the  reader  that  as  he  had  built,  so  he  should  deco- 
rate his  edifice  at  his  own  free  will.  If,  therefore,  he  likes  the 
above  triangular  spur,  c  d  e,  by  all  means  let  him  keep  it ;  but 
if  he  be  on  the  whole  dissatisfied  with  it,  I  may  be  permitted, 
perhaps,  to  advise  him  to  set  to  work  like  a  tapestry  bee,  to  cut 
off  the  little  bit  of  line  of  salvia  leaf  x  y,  and  try  how  he  can 
best  substitute  it  for  the  awkward  lines  c  d  c  e.    He  may  try 


these  delicate  mouldings, 
we  cannot  conveniently 
apply  the  spur  to  its  ir- 
regular profile  ;  we  must 
be  content  to  set  it  against 
the  lower  roll.  Let  the 
upper  edge  of  this  lower 
roll  be  the  curved  line 
here,  a,  d,  e,  b,  Fig.  LIX., 
and  c  the  angle  of  the 
square  plinth  projecting 
beneath  it.  Then  the  spur, 
applied  as  we  saw  in  Chap. 


Fig.  LIX. 


LIX. 


Plate  XI. — Plans  of  Bases. 


THE  BASE. 


283 


it  any  way  that  he  likes ;  but  if  he  puts  the  salvia  curvature 
inside  the  present  lines,  he  will  find  the  spur  looks  weak,  and  I 
think  he  will  determine  at  last  on  placing  it  as  I  have  done  at 
c  d,  c  e,  Fig.  LX.  (If  the  reader  will  be  at  the  pains  to  trans- 
fer the  salvia  leaf  line  with  tracing  paper,  he  will  find  it  accu- 
rately used  in  this  figure. )  Then  I  merely  add  an  outer  circular 
line  to  represent  the  outer  swell  of  the  roll  against  which  the 
spur  is  set,  and  I  put  another  such  spur  to  the  opposite  corner 
of  the  square,  and  we  have  the  half  base,  Fig.  LX.,  which  is  a 
general  type  of  the  best  Gothic  bases  in  existence,  being  very 
nearly  that  of  the  upper  shafts  of  the  Ducal  Palace  of  Venice. 


Fig.  LX. 


In  those  shafts  the  quadrant  a  b,  or  the  upper  edge  of  the  lower 
roll,  is  2  feet  If  inches  round,  and  the  base  of  the  spur  d  e,  is 
10  inches  ;  the  line  d  e  being  therefore  to  a  b  as  10  to  26f.  In 
Fig.  LX.  it  is  as  10  to  24,  the  measurement  being  easier  and 
the  type  somewhat  more  generally  representative  of  the  best, 
i.  ft  broadest,  spurs  of  Italian  Gothic. 

§  xiii.  Now,  the  reader  is  to  remember,  there  is  nothing 
(raagical  in  salvia  leaves  :  the  line  I  take  from  them  happened 
merely  to  fall  conveniently  on  the  page,  and  might  as  well 
have  been  taken  from  anything  else  ;  it  is  simply  its  character 
of  gradated  curvature  which  fits  it  for  our  use.  On  Plate  XL, 
opposite,  I  have  given  plans  of  the  spurs  and  quadrants  of 


284 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


twelve  Italian  and  three  Northern  bases ;  these  latter  (13), 
from  Bourges,  (14)  from  Lyons,  (15)  from  Rouen,  are  given 
merely  to  show  the  Northern  disposition  to  break  up  bound- 
ing lines,  and  lose  breadth  in  picturesqueness.  These  North- 
ern bases  look  the  prettiest  in  this  plate,  because  this  varia- 
tion of  the  outline  is  nearly  all  the  ornament  they  have, 
being  cut  very  rudely  ;  but  the  Italian  bases  above  them  are 
merely  prepared  by  their  simple  outlines  for  far  richer  decora- 
tion at  the  next  step,  as  we  shall  see  presently.  The  Northern 
bases  are  to  be  noted  also  for  another  grand  error  :  the  pro- 
jection of  the  roll  beyond  the  square  plinth,  of  which  the  cor- 
ner is  seen,  in  various  degrees  of  advancement,  in  the  three 
examples.  13  is  the  base  whose  profile  is  No.  26  in  Plate  X.; 
14  is  24  in  the  same  plate  ;  and  15  is  28. 

§  xiv.  The  Italian  bases  are  the  following  ;  all,  except  7  and 
10,  being  Venetian  :  1  and  2,  upper  colonnade,  St.  Mark's  ;  3, 
Ca'  Falier  ;  4,  lower  colonnade,  and  5,  transept,  St.  Mark's  ; 
6,  from  the  Church  of  St.  John  and  Paul  ;  7,  from  the  tomb 
near  St.  Anastasia,  Verona,  described  above  (p.  147)  ;  8  and 
9,  Fon  daco  de'  Turchi,  Venice  ;  10,  tomb  of  Can  Mastino 
della  Scala,  Verona ;  11,  San  Stefano,  Venice ;  12,  Ducal 
Palace,  Venice,  upper  colonnade.  The  Nos.  3,  8,  9,  11  are  the 
bases  whose  profiles  are  respectively  Nos.  18,  11,  13,  and  20 
in  Plate  X.  The  flat  surfaces  of  the  basic  plinths  are  here 
shaded  ;  and  in  the  lower  corner  of  the  square  occupied  by 
each  quadrant  is  put,  also  shaded,  the  central  profile  of  each 
spur,  from  its  root  at  the  roll  of  the  base  to  its  point ;  those 
of  Nos.  1  and  2  being  conjectural,  for  their  spurs  were  so  rude 
and  ugly,  that  I  took  no  note  of  their  profiles  ;  but  they  would 
probably  be  as  here  given.  As  these  bases,  though  here,  for 
the  sake  of  comparison,  reduced  within  squares  of  equal  size, 
in  reality  belong  to  shafts  of  very  different  size,  9  being  some 
six  or  seven  inches  in  diameter,  and  6,  three  or  four  feet,  the 
proportionate  size  of  the  roll  varies  accordingly,  being  largest, 
as  in  9,  where  the  base  is  smallest,  and  in  6  and  12  the  leaf 
profile  is  given  on  a  larger  scale  than  the  plan,  or  its  character 
could  not  have  been  exhibited. 

§  xv.  Now,  in  all  these  spurs,  the  reader  will  observe  that 


THE  BASE. 


285 


the  narrowest  are  for  the  most  part  the  earliest.  No.  2,  from 
the  upper  colonnade  of  St.  Mark's,  is  the  only  instance  I  ever 
saw  of  the  double  spur,  as  transitive  between  the  square  and 
octagon  plinth  ;  the  truncated  form,  1,  is  also  rare  and  very 
ugly.  Nos.  3,  4,  5,  7,  and  9  are  the  general  conditions  of  the 
Byzantine  spur  ;  8  is  a  very  rare  form  of  plan  in  Byzantine 
work,  but  proved  to  be  so  by  its  rude  level  profile  ;  while  7, 
on  the  contrary,  Byzantine  in  plan,  is  eminently  Gothic  in  the 
profile.  9  to  12  are  from  formed  Gothic  buildings,  equally 
refined  in  their  profile  and  plan. 

§  xvi.  The  character  of  the  profile  is  indeed  much  altered 
by  the  accidental  nature  of  the  surface  decoration  ;  but  the 
importance  of  the  broad  difference  between  the  raised  and  flat 
profile  will  be  felt  on  glancing  at  the  examples  1  to  6  in  Plate 
XII.  The  three  upper  examples  are  the  Komanesque  types, 
which  occur  as  parallels  with  the  Byzantine  types,  1  to  3  of 
Plate  XI.  Their  plans  would  be  nearly  the  same  ;  but  instead 
of  resembling  flat  leaves,  they  are  literally  spurs,  or  claws,  as 
high  as  they  are  broad ;  and  the  third,  from  St.  Michele  of 
Pavia,  appears  to  be  intended  to  have  its  resemblance  to  a 
claw  enforced  by  the  transverse  fillet.  1  is  from  St.  Ambrogio, 
Milan  ;  2  from  Vienne,  France.  The  4th  type,  Plate  XII., 
almost  like  the  extremity  of  a  man's  foot,  is  a  Byzantine  form 
(perhaps  worn  on  the  edges),  from  the  nave  of  St.  Mark's  ; 
and  the  two  next  show  the  unity  of  the  two  principles,  form- 
ing the  perfect  Italian  Gothic  types, — 5,  from  tomb  of  Can 
Signorio  della  Scala,  Verona  ;  6,  from  San  Stefano,  Venice  (the 
base  11  of  Plate  XI.,  in  perspective).  The  two  other  bases, 
10  and  12  of  Plate  XI.,  are  conditions  of  the  same  kind, 
showing  the  varieties  of  rise  and  fall  in  exquisite  modulation  ; 
the  10th,  a  type  more  frequent  at  Verona  than  Venice,  in 
which  the  spur  profile  overlaps  the  roll,  instead  of  rising  out 
of  it,  and  seems  to  hold  it  down,  as  if  it  were  a  ring  held  by 
sockets.  This  is  a  character  found  both  in  early  and  late 
work ;  a  kind  of  band,  or  fillet,  appears  to  hold,  and  even 
compress,  the  centre  of  the  roll  in  the  base  of  one  of  the  crypt 
shafts  of  St.  Peter's,  Oxford,  which  has  also  spurs  at  its 
angles  ;  and  long  bands  flow  over  the  base  of  the  angle 


286 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


shaft  of  the  Ducal  Palace  of  Venice,  next  the  Porta  della 
Carta. 

§  xvii.  When  the  main  contours  of  the  base  are  once  deter- 
mined, its  decoration  is  as  easy  as  it  is  infinite.  I  have  merely 
given,  in  Plate  XII.,  three  examples  to  which  I  shall  need  to 
refer,  hereafter.  No.  9  is  a  very  early  and  curious  one  ;  the 
decoration  of  the  base  6  in  Plate  XI.,  representing  a  leaf 
turned  over  and  flattened  down ;  or,  rather,  the  idea  of  the 
turned  leaf,  worked  as  well  as  could  be  imagined  on  the  flat 
contour  of  the  spur.  Then  10  is  the  perfect,  but  simplest 
possible  development  of  the  same  idea,  from  the  earliest 
bases  of  the  upper  colonnade  of  the  Ducal  Palace,  that  is  to 
say,  the  bases  of  the  sea  facade  ;  and  7  and  8  are  its  lateral 
profile  and  transverse  section.  Finally,  11  and  12  are  two  of 
the  spurs  of  the  later  shafts  of  the  same  colonnade  on  the 
Piazzetta  side  (No.  12  of  Plate  XI).  No.  11  occurs  on  one 
of  these  shafts  only,  and  is  singularly  beautiful.  I  suspect  it 
to  be  earlier  than  the  other,  which  is  the  characteristic  base 
of  the  rest  of  the  series,  and  already  shows  the  loose,  sensual, 
ungoverned  character  of  fifteenth  century  ornament  in  the 
dissoluteness  of  its  rolling. 

§  xviii.  I  merely  give  these  as  examples  ready  to  my  hand, 
and  necessary  for  future  reference  ;  not  as  in  anywise  repre- 
sentative of  the  variety  of  the  Italian  treatment  of  the  general 
contour,  far  less  of  the  endless  caprices  of  the  North.  The 
most  beautiful  base  I  ever  saw,  on  the  whole,  is  a  Byzantine 
one  in  the  Baptistery  of  St.  Mark's,  in  which  the  spur  profile 
approximates  to  that  of  No.  10  in  Plate  XI. ;  but  it  is  formed 
by  a  cherub,  who  sweeps  downwards  on  the  wing.  His  two 
wings,  as  they  half  close,  form  the  upper  part  of  the  spur, 
and  the  rise  of  it  in  the  front  is  formed  by  exactly  the  action 
of  Alichino,  swooping  on  the  pitch  lake :  "  quei  drizzo, 
volando,  suso  il  petto.5'  But  it  requires  noble  management 
to  confine  such  a  fancy  within  such  limits.  The  greater 
number  of  the  best  bases  are  formed  of  leaves  ;  and  the 
reader  may  amuse  himself  as  he  will  by  endless  inventions  of 
them,  from  types  which  he  may  gather  among  the  weeds  at 
the  nearest  roadside.    The  value  of  the  vegetable  form  m  e& 


THE  BASK 


287 


pecially  here,  as  above  noted,  Chap.  XX ,  §  xxxii .,  its  capa- 
bility of  unity  with  the  mass  of  the  base,  and  of  being  sug- 
gested by  few  lines  ;  none  but  the  Northern  Gothic  archi- 
tects are  able  to  introduce  entire  animal  forms  in  this  posi- 
tion with  perfect  success.  There  is  a  beautiful  instance  at 
the  north  door  of  the  west  front  of  Rouen  ;  a  lizard  pausing 
and  curling  himself  round  a  little  in  the  angle  ;  one  expects 
him  the  next  instant  to  lash  round  the  shaft  and  vanish  :  and 
we  may  with  advantage  compare  this  base  with  those  of 
Eenaissance  Scuola  di  San  Rocca  *  at  Venice,  in  which  the 
architect,  imitating  the  mediae val  bases,  which  he  did  not  un- 
derstand, has  put  an  elephant,  four  inches  higher,  in  the  same 
position. 

§  xix.  I  have  not  in  this  chapter  spoken  at  all  of  the  pro- 
files which  are  given  in  Northern  architecture  to  the  projec- 
tions of  the  lower  members  of  the  base,  b  and  c  in  Fig.  II., 
nor  of  the  methods  in  which  both  these,  and  the  rolls  of  the 
mouldings  in  Plate  X.,  are  decorated,  especially  in  Roman 
architecture,  with  superadded  chainwork  or  chasing  of  vari- 
ous patterns.  Of  the  first  I  have  not  spoken,  because  I  shall 
have  no  occasion  to  allude  to  them  in  the  following  essay  ; 
nor  of  the  second,  because  I  consider  them  barbarisms. 
Decorated  rolls  and  decorated  ogee  profiles,  such,  for  in- 
stance, as  the  base  of  the  Arc  de  l'Etoile  at  Paris,  are  among, 
the  richest  and  farthest  refinements  of  decorative  appliances  ; 
and  they  ought  always  to  be  reserved  for  jambs,  cornices, 
and  archivoits  :  if  you  begin  with  them  in  the  base,  you  have 
no  power  of  refining  your  decorations  as  you  ascend,  and, 
which  is  still  worse,  you  put  your  most  delicate  work  on  the 
jutting  portions  of  the  foundation, — the  very  portions  which 
are  most  exposed  to  abrasion.  The  best  expression  of  a  base 
is  that  of  stern  endurance, — the  look  of  being  able  to  bear 
roughing  ;  or,  if  the  whole  building  is  so  delicate  that  no  one 

*  I  have  put  in  Appendix  24,  "  Renaissance  Bases,"  my  memorandum 
written  respecting  this  building  on  the  spot.  But  the  reader  had  better 
delay  referring  to  it,  until  we  have  completed  our  examination  of  orna- 
ments in  shafts  and  capitals. 


28$ 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


can  be  expected  to  treat  even  its  base  with  unkindness,*  then 
at  least  the  expression  of  quiet,  prefatory  simplicity.  The 
angle  spur  may  receive  such  decoration  as  we  have  seen,  be- 
cause it  is  one  of  the  most  important  features  in  the  whole 
building  ;  and  the  eye  is  always  so  attracted  to  it  that  it  can- 
not be  in  rich  architecture  left  altogether  blank  ;  the  eye  is 
stayed  upon  it  by  its  position,  but  glides,  and  ought  to  glide, 
along  the  basic  rolls  to  take  measurement  of  their  length  : 
and  even  with  all  this  added  fitness,  the  ornament  of  the 
basic  spur  is  best,  in  the  long  run,  when  it  is  boldest  and  sim- 
plest. The  base  above  described,  §  xviii.,  as  the  most  beau- 
tiful I  ever  saw,  was  not  for  that  reason  the  best  I  ever  saw  : 
beautiful  in  its  place,  in  a  quiet  corner  of  a  Baptistery  sheeted 
with  jasper  and  alabaster,  it  would  have  been  utterly  wrong, 
nay,  even  offensive,  if  used  in  sterner  work,  or  repeated  along 
a  whole  colonnade.  The  base  No.  10  of  Plate  XII.  is  the 
richest  with  which  I  was  ever  perfectly  satisfied  for  general 
service  ;  and  the  basic  spurs  of  the  building  which  I  have 
named  as  the  best  Gothic  monument  in  the  world  (p.  147), 
have  no  ornament  upon  them  whatever.  The  adaptation, 
therefore,  of  rich  cornice  and  roll  mouldings  to  the  level  and 
ordinary  lines  of  bases,  whether  of  walls  or  shafts,  I  hold  to 
be  one  of  the  worst  barbarisms  which  the  Roman  and  Renais- 
sance architects  ever  committed  ;  and  that  nothing  can  after- 
wards redeem  the  effeminacy  and  vulgarity  of  the  buildings 
in  which  it  prominently  takes  place. 

§  xx.  I  have  also  passed  over,  without  present  notice,  the 
fantastic  bases  formed  by  couchant  animals,  which  sustain 
many  Lombardic  shafts.  The  pillars  they  support  have  inde- 
pendent bases  of  the  ordinary  kind  ;  and  the  animal  form  be~ 
neath  is  less  to  be  considered  as  a  true  base  (though  often 
exquisitely  combined  with  it,  as  in  the  shaft  on  the  south- 
west angle  of  the  cathedral  of  Genoa)  than  as  a  piece  of  sculpt- 
ure, otherwise  necessary  to  the  nobility  of  the  building,  and 
deriving  its  value  from  its  special  positive  fulfilment  of  ex- 
pressional  purposes,  with  which  we  have  here  no  concern. 


*  Appendix  25,  "  Romanist  Decoration  of  Bases." 


 :   "  '  ■  ^  \ 

Plate  XII. — Decoration  of  Bases, 


TI1E  WALL   VEIL  AND  SHAFT. 


2S9 


As  the  embodiment  of  a  wild  superstition,  and  the  represen- 
tation of  supernatural  powers,  their  appeal  to  the  imagina- 
tion sets  at  utter  defiance  all  judgment  based  on  ordinary 
canons  of  law ;  and  the  magnificence  of  their  treatment 
atones,  in  nearly  every  case,  for  the  extravagance  of  their 
conception.  I  should  not  admit  this  appeal  to  the  imagina- 
tion, if  it  had  been  made  by  a  nation  in  whom  the  powers  of 
body  and  mind  had  been  languid  ;  but  by  the  Lombard, 
strong  in  all  the  realities  of  human  life,  we  need  not  fear 
being  led  astray  :  the  visions  of  a  distempered  fancy  are  not 
indeed  permitted  to  replace  the  truth,  or  set  aside  the  laws  of 
science  :  but  the  imagination  which  is  thoroughly  under  the 
command  of  the  intelligent  will,*  has  a  dominion  indiscerni- 
ble by  science,  and  illimitable  by  law ;  and  we  may  acknowl- 
edge the  authority  of  the  Lombardie  gryphons  in  the  mere 
splendor  of  their  presence,  without  thinking  idolatry  an  ex- 
cuse for  mechanical  misconstruction,  or  dreading  to  be  called 
upon,  in  other  cases,  to  admire  a  systemless  architecture,  be- 
cause it  may  happen  to  have  sprung  from  an  irrational  relig- 
ion. 


CHAPTER  XXVL 

THE  WALL  VEIL  AND  SHAFT. 

§  l  No  subject  has  been  more  open  ground  of  dispute 
among  architects  than  the  decoration  of  the  wall  veil,  because 
no  decoration  appeared  naturally  to  grow  out  of  its  construc- 
tion ;  nor  could  any  curvatures  be  given  to  its  surface  large 
enough  to  produce  much  impression  on  the  eye.  It  has  be- 
come, therefore,  a  kind  of  general  field  for  experiments  of 
various  effects  of  surface  ornament,  or  has  been  altogether 
abandoned  to  the  mosaicist  and  fresco  painter.  But  we  may 
perhaps  conclude,  from  what  was  advanced  in  the  Fifth  Chap- 

*  In  all  the  wildness  of  the  Lombardie  fancy  (described  in  Appendix 
8;,  this  command  of  the  will  over  its  action  is  as  distinct  as  it  is  stern. 
The  fancy  is,  in  tli3  early  work  of  the  nation,  visibly  diseased  ;  but 
never  the  will,  nor  the  reason. 
Vol.  I. —19 


290 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


ter,  that  there  is  one  kind  of  decoration  which  will,  indeed^ 
naturally  follow  on  its  construction.  For  it  is  perfectly  natu- 
ral that  the  different  kinds  of  stone  used  in  its  successive 
courses  should  be  of  different  colors ;  and  there  are  many  as- 
sociations and  analogies  which  metaphysically  justify  the  in- 
troduction of  horizontal  bands  of  color,  or  of  light  and  shade. 
They  are,  in  the  first  place,  a  kind  of  expression  of  the  growth 
or  age  of  the  wall,  like  the  rings  in  the  wood  of  a  tree  ;  then 
the}'  are  a  farther  symbol  of  the  alternation  of  light  and  dark- 
ness, which  was  above  noted  as  the  source  of  the  charm  of 
many  inferior  mouldings :  again,  they  are  valuable  as  an  ex- 
pression of  horizontal  space  to  the  imagination,  space  of  which 
the  conception  is  opposed,  and  gives  more  effect  by  its  oppo- 
sition, to  the  enclosing  power  of  the  wall  itself  (this  I  spoke 
of  as  probably  the  great  charm  of  these  horizontal  bars  to  the 
Arabian  mind)  :  and  again  they  are  valuable  in  their  sugges- 
tion of  the  natural  courses  of  rooks,  and  beds  of  the  earth  it- 
self. And  to  all  these  powerful  imaginative  reasons  we  have 
to  add  the  merely  ocular  charm  of  inteiiineal  opposition  of 
color ;  a  charm  so  great,  that  all  the  best  colorists,  without  a 
single  exception,  depend  upon  it  for  the  most  piquant  of  their 
pictorial  effects,  some  vigorous  mass  of  alternate  stripes  or 
bars  of  color  being  made  central  in  all  their  richest  arrange- 
ments. The  whole  system  of  Tintoret's  great  picture  of  the 
Miracle  of  St.  Mark  is  poised  on  the  bars  of  blue,  which  cross 
the  white  turban  of  the  executioner. 

§  ii.  There  are,  therefore,  no  ornaments  more  deeply  sug- 
gestive in  their  simplicity  than  these  alternate  bars  of  horizon- 
tal colors  ;  nor  do  I  know  any  buildings  more  noble  than  those 
of  the  Pisan  Eomanesque,  in  which  they  are  habitually  em* 
ployed  ;  and  certainly  none  so  graceful,  so  attractive,  so  endur- 
ingly  delightful  in  their  nobleness.  Yet,  of  this  pure  and 
graceful  ornamentation,  Professor  Willis  says,  "a  practice  more 
destructive  of  architectural  grandeur  can  hardly  be  conceived 
and  modern  architects  have  substituted  for  it  the  ingenious 
ornament  of  which  the  reader  has  had  one  specimen  above, 
Fig.  HI.,  p.  72,  and  with  which  half  the  large  buildings  in 
London  are  disfigured,  or  else  traversed  by  mere  straight  lines, 


\ 


THE  WALL  VEIL  AND  SHAFT. 


291 


as,  for  instance,  the  back  of  the  Bank.  The  lines  on  the  Bank 
may,  perhaps,  be  considered  typical  of  accounts  ;  but  in 
general  the  walls,  if  left  destitute  of  them,  would  have  been  as 
much  fairer  than  the  walls  charged  with  them,  as  a  sheet  of 
white  paper  is  than  the  leaf  of  a  ledger.  But  that  the  reader 
may  have  free  liberty  of  judgment  in  this  matter,  I  place  two 
examples  of  the  old  and  the  Renaissance  ornament  side  by 
side  on  the  opposite  page.  That  on  the  right  is  Romanesque, 
from  St.  Pietro  of  Pistoja  ;  that  on  the  left,  modern  English, 
from  the  Arthur  Club-house,  St.  James's  Street. 

§  in.  But  why,  it  will  be  asked,  should  the  lines  which  mark 
the  division  of  the  stones  be  wrong  when  they  are  chiselled, 
and  right  when  they  are  marked  by  color  ?  First,  because 
the  color  separation  is  a  natural  one.  You  build  with  different 
kinds  of  stone,  of  which,  probably,  one  is  more  costly  than 
another  ;  which  latter,  as  you  cannot  construct  your  building 
of  it  entirely,  you  arrange  in  conspicuous  bars.  But  the  chis- 
elling of  the  stones  is  a  wilful  throwing  away  of  time  and  labor 
in  defacing  the  building  :  it  costs  much  to  hew  one  of  those 
monstrous  blocks  into  shape  ;  and,  when  it  is  done,  the  build- 
ing is  weaker  than  it  was  before,  by  just  as  much  stone  as  has 
been  cut  away  from  its  joints.  And,  secondly,  because,  as  I 
have  repeatedly  urged,  straight  lines  are  ugly  things  as  lines, 
but  admirable  as  limits  of  colored  spaces ;  and  the  joints  of 
the  stones,  which  are  painful  in  proportion  to  their  regularity, 
if  drawn  as  lines,  are  perfectly  agreeable  when  marked  by 
variations  of  hue. 

§  iv.  "What  is  true  of  the  divisions  of  stone  by  chiselling,, 
is  equally  true  of  divisions  of  bricks  by  pointing.  Nor,  of 
course,  is  the  mere  horizontal  bar  the  only  arrangement  in 
which  the  colors  of  brickwork  or  masonry  can  be  gracefully 
disposed.  It  is  rather  one  which  can  only  be  employed  with 
advantage  when  the  courses  of  stone  are  deep  and  bold.  When 
the  masonry  is  small,  it  is  better  to  throw  its  colors  into  cheq- 
uered patterns.  We  shall  have  several  interesting  examples 
to  study  in  Venice  besides  the  well-known  one  of  the  Ducal 
Palace.  The  town  of  Moulins,  in  France,  is  one  of  the  most 
remarkable  on  this  side  the  Alps  for  its  chequered  patterns  in 


292 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


bricks.  The  church  of  Christchurch,  Streatham,  lately  built 
though  spoiled  by  many  grievous  errors  (the  iron  work  in 
the  campanile  being  the  grossest),  yet  affords  the  inhabitants 
of  the  district  a  means  of  obtaining  some  idea  of  the  variety 
of  effects  which  are  possible  with  no  other  material  than 
brick. 

§  v.  We  have  yet  to  notice  another  effort  of  the  Renais- 
sance architects  to  adorn  the  blank  spaces  of  their  walls  by 
what  is  called  Eustication.  There  is  sometimes  an  obscure 
trace  of  the  remains  of  the  imitation  of  something  organic  in 
this  kind  of  work.  In  some  of  the  better  French  eighteenth 
century  buildings  it  has  a  distinctly  floral  character,  like  a  final 
degradation  of  Flamboyant  leafage  ;  and  some  of  our  modern 
English  architects  appear  to  have  taken  the  decayed  teeth  of 
elephants  for  their  type  ;  but,  for  the  most  part,  it  resembles 
nothing  so  much  as  worm  casts  ;  nor  these  with  any  precision 
If  it  did,  it  would  not  bring  it  within  the  sphere  of  our  prop- 
erly imitative  ornamentation.  I  thought  it  unnecessary  to 
warn  the  reader  that  he  was  not  to  copy  forms  of  refuse  or 
corruption  ;  and  that,  while  he  might  legitimately  take  the 
worm  or  the  reptile  for  a  subject  of  imitation,  he  was  not  to 
study  the  worm  cast  or  coprolite. 

§  vi.  It  is,  however,  I  believe,  sometimes  supposed  that  rus- 
tication gives  an  appearance  of  solidity  to  foundation  stones. 
Not  so  ;  at  least  to  any  one  who  knows  the  look  of  a  hard 
stone.  You  may,  by  rustication,  make  your  good  marble  or 
granite  look  like  wret  slime,  honeycombed  by  sand-eels,  or  like 
half-baked  tufo  covered  with  slow  exudation  of  stalactite,  or 
like  rotten  claystone  coated  with  concretions  of  its  own  mud ; 
but  not  like  the  stones  of  which  the  hard  wroiid  is  built.  Do 
not  think  that  nature  rusticates  her  foundations.  Smooth 
sheets  of  rock,  glistening  like  sea  waves,  and  that  ring  under 
the  hammer  like  a  brazen  bell, — that  is  her  preparation  for 
first  stories.  She  does  rusticate  sometimes  :  crumbly  sand- 
stones, with  their  ripple-marks  filled  with  red  mud  ;  dusty 
lime-stones,  which  the  rains  wash  into  labyrinthine  cavities  ; 
spongy  lavas,  which  the  volcano  blast  drags  hither  and  thither 
into  ropy  coils  and  bubbling  hollows ; — these  she  rusticates, 


THE  WALL  VEIL  AND  SHAFT. 


293 


indeed,  when  she  wants  to  make  oyster- shells  and  magnesia 
of  them  ;  but  not  when  she  needs  to  lay  foundations  with 
them.  Then  she  seeks  the  polished  surface  and  iron  heart, 
not  rough  looks  and  incoherent  substance. 

§  vii.  Of  the  richer  modes  of  wall  decoration  it  is  impossi- 
ble to  institute  any  general  comparison  ;  they  are  quite  in- 
finite,  from  mere  inlaid  geometrical  figures  up  to  incrustations 
of  elaborate  bas-relief.  The  architect  has  perhaps  more  li- 
cense in  them,  and  more  power  of  producing  good  effect  with 
rude  design  than  in  any  other  features  of  the  building  ;  the 
chequer  and  hatchet  work  of  the  Normans  and  the  rude  bas- 
reliefs  of  the  Lombards  being  almost  as  satisfactory  as  the 
delicate  panelling  and  mosaic  of  the  Duomo  of  Florence. 
But  this  is  to  be  noted  of  all  good  wall  ornament,  that  it  re- 
tains the  expression  of  firm  and  massive  substance,  and  of 
broad  surface,  and  that  architecture  instantly  declined  when 
linear  design  was  substituted  for  massive,  and  the  sense  of 
weight  of  wall  was  lost  in  a  wilderness  of  upright  or  undulat- 
ing rods.  Of  the  richest  and  most  delicate  wall  veil  decora- 
tion by  inlaid  work,  as  practised  in  Italy  from  the  twelfth  to 
the  fifteenth  century,  I  have  given  the  reader  two  characteris- 
tic examples  in  Plates  XX.  and  XXL 

§  vin.  There  are,  however,  three  spaces  in  which  the  wall 
veil,  peculiarly  limited  in  shape,  was  always  felt  to  be  fitted 
for  surface  decoration  of  the  most  elaborate  kind  ;  and  in 
these  spaces  are  found  the  most  majestic  instances  of  its 
treatment,  even  to  late  periods.  One  of  these  is  the  spandril 
space,  or  the  filling  be-  * 


Chapter  XVII. ,  on  Fill- 
ing of  Apertures,  the  reader  will  find  another  of  these  spaces 
noted,  called  the  tympanum,  and  commonly  of  the  form  b, 
Fig.  LXt  :  and  finally,  in  Chapter  XVIIL,  he  will  find  the 


tween  any  two  arches, 
commonly  of  the  shape 
a,  Fig.  LXI.  ;  the  half 
of  which,  or  the  flank 
filling  of  any  arch,  is 
called   a  spandril.  In 


Fig.  LXI. 


294 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


third  space  described,  that  between  an  arch  and  its  protecting 
gable,  approximating  generally  to  the  form  c,  Fig.  LXI. 

§  ix.  The  methods  of  treating  these  spaces  might  alone  fur- 
nish subject  for  three  very  interesting  essays  ;  but  I  shall 
only  note  the  most  essential  points  respecting  them. 

(1.)  The  Spandril.  It  was  observed  in  Chapter  XII. ,  that 
this  portion  of  the  arch  load  might  frequently  be  lightened 
with  great  advantage  by  piercing  it  with  a  circle,  or  with  a 
group  of  circles  ;  and  the  roof  of  the  Euston  Square  railroad 
station  was  adduced  as  an  example.  One  of  the  spandril 
decorations  of  Bayeux  Cathedral  is  given  in  the  "  Seven 
Lamps,"  Plate  VII.  fig.  4.  It  is  little  more  than  one  of  these 
Euston  Square  spandrils,  with  its  circles  foliated. 

Sometimes  the  circle  is  entirety  pierced  ;  at  other  times  it 
is  merely  suggested  by  a  mosaic  or  light  tracery  on  the  wall 
surface,  as  in  the  plate  opposite,  which  is  one  of  the  spandrils 
of  the  Ducal  Palace  at  Venice.  It  wTas  evidently  intended 
that  all  the  spandrils  of  this  building  should  be  decorated  in 
this  manner,  but  only  two  of  them  seem  to  have  been  com- 
pleted.* 

§  x.  The  other  modes  of  spandril  filling  may  be  broadly 
reduced  to  four  heads.  1.  Free  figure  sculpture,  as  in  the 
Chapter-house  of  Salisbury,  and  very  superbly  along  the  west 
front  of  Bourges,  the  best  Gothic  spandrils  I  know.  2.  Radi- 
ated  foliage,  more  or  less  referred  to  the  centre,  or  to  the  bot- 
tom of  the  spandril  for  its  origin  ;  single  figures  with  expanded 
wings  often  answering  the  same  purpose.  3.  Trefoils ;  and  4, 
ordinary  wall  decoration  continued  into  the  spandril  space,  as 
in  Plate  XIII.,  above,  from  St.  Pietro  at  Pistoja,  and  in  West- 
minster Abbey.  The  Renaissance  architects  introduced  span- 
dril fillings  composed  of  colossal  human  figures  reclining  on 
the  sides  of  the  arch,  in  precarious  lassitude  ;  but  these  can- 
not come  under  the  head  of  wall  veil  decoration. 

§  xi.  (2.)  The  Tympanum.  It  was  noted  that,  in  Gothic 
architecture,  this  is  for  the  most  part  a  detached  slab  of  stone, 
having  no  constructional  relation  to  the  rest  of  the  building. 
The  plan  of  its  sculpture  is  therefore  quite  arbitrary  ;  and,  as 
*  Vide  end  of  Appendix  20, 


THE  WALL  VEIL  AND  SHAFT. 


295 


it  is  generally  in  a  conspicuous  position,  near  the  eye,  and 
above  the  entrance,  it  is  almost  always  charged  with  a  series 
of  rich  figure  sculptures,  solemn  in  feeling  and  consecutive  in 
subject.  It  occupies  in  Christian  sacred  edifices  very  nearly 
the  position  of  the  pediment  in  Greek  sculpture.  This  latter 
is  itself  a  kind  of  tympanum,  and  charged  with  sculpture  in 
the  same  manner. 

§  xii.  (3.)  The  Gable.  The  same  principles  apply  to  it 
which  have  been  noted  respecting  the  spandril,  with  one  more 
of  some  importance.  The  chief  difficulty  in  treating  a  gable 
lies  in  the  excessive  sharpness  of  its  upper  point.  It  may,  in- 
deed, on  its  outside  apex,  receive  a  finial ;  but  the  meeting 
of  the  inside  lines  of  its  terminal  mouldings  is  necessarily 
both  harsh  and  conspicuous,  unless  artificially  concealed.  The 
most  beautiful  victory  I  have  ever  seen  obtained  over  this  dif- 
ficulty was  by  placing  a  sharp  shield,  its  point,  as  usual, 
downwards,  at  the  apex  of  the  gable,  which  exactly  reversed 
the  offensive  lines,  yet  without  actually  breaking  them  ;  the 
gable  being  completed  behind  the  shield.  The  same  thing  is 
done  in  the  Northern  and  Southern  Gothic  :  in  the  porches  of 
Abbeville  and  the  tombs  of  Verona. 

§  xin.  I  believe  there  is  little  else  to  be  noted  of  general 
laws  of  ornament  respecting  the  wall  veil.  We  have  next  to 
consider  its  concentration  in  the  shaft. 

Now  the  principal  beauty  of  a  shaft  is  its  perfect  proportion 
to  its  work, — its  exact  expression  of  necessary  strength.  If 
this  has  been  truly  attained,  it  will  hardly  need,  in  some  cases 
hardly  bear,  more  decoration  than  is  given  to  it  by  its  own 
rounding  and  taper  curvatures  ;  for,  if  we  cut  ornaments  in 
intaglio  on  its  surface,  we  weaken  it ;  if  we  leave  them  in 
relief,  we  overcharge  it,  and  the  sweep  of  the  line  from  its 
base  to  its  summit,  though  deduced  in  Chapter  VIII. ,  from 
necessities  of  construction,  is  already  one  of  gradated  curva- 
ture, and  of  high  decorative  value. 

§  xiv.  It  is,  however,  carefully  to  be  noted,  that  decorations 
are  admissible  on  colossal  and  on  diminutive  shafts,  which  are 
wrong  upon  those  of  middle  size.  For,  when  the  shaft  is 
enormous,  incisions  or  sculpture  on  its  sides  (unless  colossal 


TEE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


also),  do  not  materially  interfere  with  the  sweep  of  its  curve, 
nor  diminish  the  efficiency  of  its  sustaining  mass.  And  if  it 
be  diminutive,  its  sustaining  function  is  comparatively  of  so 
small  importance,  the  injurious  results  of  failure  so  much  less, 
and  the  relative  strength  and  cohesion  of  its  mass  so  much 
greater,  that  it  may  be  suffered  in  the  extravagance  of  orna- 
ment or  outline  which  would  be  unendurable  in  a  shaft  of 
middle  size,  and  impossible  in  one  of  colossal.  Thus,  the 
shafts  drawn  in  Plate  XIII.,  of  the  V  Seven  Lamps,"  though 
given  as  examples  of  extravagance,  are  yet  pleasing  in  the  gen- 
eral effect  of  the  arcade  they  support  ;  being  each  some  six  or 
seven  feet  high.  But  they  would  have  been  monstrous,  as 
well  as  unsafe,  if  they  had  been  sixty  or  seventy. 

§  xv.  Therefore,  to  determine  the  general  rule  for  shaft 
decoration,  we  must  ascertain  the  proportions  representative 
of  the  mean  bulk  of  shafts  :  they  might  easily  be  calculated 
from  a  sufficient  number  of  examples,  but  it  may  perhaps  be 
assumed,  for  our  present  general  purpose,  that  the  mean 
standard  would  be  of  some  twenty  feet  in  height,  by  eight  or 
nine  in  circumference  :  then  this  will  be  the  size  on  which 
decoration  is  most  difficult  and  dangerous  :  and  shafts  become 
more  and  more  fit  subjects  for  decoration,  as  they  rise  farther 
above,  or  fall  farther  beneath  it,  until  very  small  and  very  vast 
shafts  will  both  be  found  to  look  blank  unless  they  receive 
some  chasing  or  imagery  ;  blank,  whether  they  support  a  chair 
or  table  on  the  one  side,  or  sustain  a  village  on  the  ridge  of 
an  Egyptian  architrave  on  the  other. 

§  xvr.  Of  the  various  ornamentation  of  colossal  shafts,  there 
are  no  examples  so  noble  as  the  Egyptian  ;  these  the  reader 
can  study  in  Mr.  Koberts'  work  on  Egypt  nearly  as  well,  I 
imagine,  as  if  he  were  beneath  their  shadow,  one  of  their  chief 
merits,  as  examples  of  method,  being  the  perfect  decision  and 
visibility  of  their  designs  at  the  necessary  distance  :  contrast 
with  these  the  incrustations  of  bas-relief  on  the  Trajan  pillar, 
much  interfering  with  the  smooth  lines  of  the  shaft,  and  yet 
themselves  untraceable,  if  not  invisible. 

§  xvn.  On  shafts  of  middle  size,  the  only  ornament  which 
has  ever  been  accepted  as  right,  is  the  Doric  fluting,  which. 


THE  WALL  VEIL  AND  SHAFT. 


297 


indeed,  gave  the  effect  of  a  succession  of  unequal  lines  of 
shade,  but  lost  much  of  the  repose  of  the  cylindrical  gradation. 
The  Corinthian  fluting,  which  is  a  mean  multiplication  and 
deepening  of  the  Doric,  with  a  square  instead  of  a  sharp  ridge 
between  each  hollow,  destroyed  the  serenity  of  the  shaft  alto- 
gether, and  is  always  rigid  and  meagre.  Both  are,  in  fact, 
wrong  in  principle  ;  they  are  an  elaborate  weakening  *  of  the 
shaft,  exactly  opposed  (as  above  shown)  to  the  ribbed  form, 
which  is  the  result  of  a  group  of  shafts  bound  together,  and 
which  is  especially  beautiful  when  special  service  is  given  to 
each  member. 

§  xviii.  On  shafts  of  inferior  size,  every  species  of  decora- 
tion may  be  wisely  lavished,  and  in  any  quantity,  so  only  that 
the  form  of  the  shaft  be  clearly  visible.  This  I  hold  to  be 
absolutely  essential,  and  that  barbarism  begins  wherever  the 
sculpture  is  either  so  bossy,  or  so  deeply  cut,  as  to  break  the 
contour  of  the  shaft,  or  compromise  its  solidity.  Thus,  in 
Plate  XXI.  (Appendix  8),  the  richly  sculptured  shaft  of  the 
lower  story  has  lost  its  dignity  and  definite  function,  and  be- 
come a  shapeless  mass,  injurious  to  the  symmetry  of  the  build- 
ing, though  of  some  value  as  adding  to  its  imaginative  and 
fantastic  character.  Had  all  the  shafts  been  like  it,  the  fa^-ade 
would  have  been  entirely  spoiled  ;  the  inlaid  pattern,  on  the 
contrary,  which  is  used  on  the  shortest  shaft  of  the  upper 
story,  adds  to  its  preciousness  without  interfering  with  its 
purpose,  and  is  every  way  delightful,  as  are  all  the  inlaid  shaft 
ornaments  of  this  noble  church  (another  example  of  them  is 
given  in  Plate  XII.  of  the  4 'Seven  Lamps").  The  same  rule 
would  condemn  the  Caryatid  ;  which  I  entirely  agree  with  Mr. 
Fergusson  in  thinking  (both  for  this  and  other  reasons)  one 
of  the  chief  errors  of  the  Greek  schools ;  and,  more  decisively 
still,  the  Renaissance  inventions  of  shaft  ornament,  almost  too 
absurd  and  too  monstrous  to  be  seriously  noticed,  which  con- 
sist in  leaving  square  blocks  between  the  cylinder  joints,  as  in 
the  portico  of  No.  1,  Regent  Street,  and  many  other  buildings 
in  London  ;  or  in  rusticating  portions  of  the  shafts,  or  wrap- 


*  Vide,  however,  their  defence  in  the  Essay  above  quoted,  p,  251. 


298 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


ping  fleeces  about  them,  as  at  the  entrance  of  Burlington 
House,  in  Piccadilly  ;  or  tying  drapery  round  them  in  knots, 
as  in  the  new  buildings  above  noticed  (Chap,  20,  §  vn.),  at 
Paris.  But,  within  the  limits  thus  defined,  there  is  no  feature 
capable  of  richer  decoration  than  the  shaft ;  the  most  beauti- 
ful examples  of  all  I  have  seen,  are  the  slender  pillars,  encrusted 
with  arabesques,  which  flank  the  portals  of  the  Baptistery  and 
Duomo  at  Pisa,  and  some  others  of  the  Pisan  and  Lucchese 
churches ;  but  the  varieties  of  sculpture  and  inlaying,  writh 
which  the  small  Romanesque  shafts,  whether  Italian  or  North- 
ern, are  adorned  when  they  occupy  important  positions,  are 
quite  endless,  and  nearly  all  admirable.  Mr.  Digby  Wyatt 
has  given  a  beautiful  example  of  inlaid  work  so  employed, 
from  the  cloisters  of  the  Lateran,  in  his  work  on  early  mosaic ; 
an  example  which  unites  the  surface  decoration  of  the  shaft 
with  the  adoption  of  the  spiral  contour. 
This  latter  is  often  all  the  decoration  which 
is  needed,  and  none  can  be  more  beautiful ; 
it  has  been  spoken  against,  like  many  other 
good  and  lovely  things,  because  it  has  been 
too  often  used  in  extravagant  degrees,  like 
the  well-known  twisting  of  the  pillars  in 
Baffaelle's  Beautiful  gate."  But  that  ex- 
travagant condition  was  a  Renaissance  bar- 
barism :  the  old  Romanesque  builders  kept 
their  spirals  slight  and  pure  ;  often,  as  in  the 
example  from  St.  Zeno,  in  Plate  XVII.  below, 
giving  only  half  a  turn  from  the  base  of  the 
shaft  to  its  head,  and  nearly  always  observing 
what  I  hold  to  be  an  imperative  law,  that  no 
twisted  shaft  shall  be  single,  but  composed  of  at  least  two 
distinct  members,  twined  with  each  other.  I  suppose  they 
followed  their  own  right  feeling  in  doing  this,  and  had  never 
studied  natural  shafts  ;  but  the  type  they  might  have  followed 
was  caught  by  one  of  the  few  great  painters  w7ho  were  not  af- 
fected by  the  evil  influence  of  the  fifteenth  century,  Benozzo 
Gozzoli,  who,  in  the  frescoes  of  the  Ricardi  Palace,  among 
stems  of  trees  for  the  most  part  as  vertical  as  stone  shafts,  has 


Fig.  lxii. 


THE  CORNICE  AND  CAPITAL. 


299 


suddenly  introduced  one  of  the  shape  given  in  Fig.  LXIL 
Many  forest  tree?  present,  in  their  accidental  contortions, 
types  of  most  complicated  spiral  shafts,  the  plan  being  origi- 
nally of  a  grouped  shaft  rising  from  several  roots  ;  nor, 
indeed,' will  the  reader  ever  find  models  for  every  kind  of  shaft 
decoration,  so  graceful  or  so  gorgeous,  as  he  will  find  in  the 
great  forest  aisle,  where  the  strength  of  the  earth  itself  seems 
to  rise  from  the  roots  into  the  vaulting  ;  but  the  shaft  surface, 
barred  as  it  expands  with  rings  of  ebony  and  silver,  is  fretted 
with  traceries  of  ivy,  marbled  with  purple  moss,  veined  with 
grey  lichen,  and  tesselated,  by  the  rays  of  the  rolling  heaven, 
with  flitting  fancies  of  blue  shadow  and  burning  gold. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

THE  CORNICE  AND  CAPITAL. 

§  i.  There  are  no  features  to  which  the  attention  of  archi- 
tects has  been  more  laboriously  directed,  in  all  ages,  than 
these  crowning  members  of  the  wall  and  shaft ;  and  it  would 
be  vain  to  endeavor,  within  any  moderate  limits,  to  give  the 
reader  any  idea  of  the  various  kinds  of  admirable  decoration 
which  have  been  invented  for  them.  But,  in  proportion  to 
the  effort  and  straining  of  the  fancy,  have  been  the  extrava- 
gances into  which  it  has  occasionally  fallen  ;  and  while  it  is 
utterly  impossible  severally  to  enumerate  the  instances  either 
of  its  success  or  its  error,  it  is  very  possible  to  note  the  limits 
of  the  one  and  the  causes  of  the  other.  This  is  all  that  we 
shall  attempt  in  the  present  chapter,  tracing  first  for  our- 
selves, as  in  previous  instances,  the  natural  channels  by  which 
invention  is  here  to  be  directed  or  confined,  and  afterwards 
remarking  the  places  where,  in  real  practice,  it  has  broken 
bounds. 

§  ii.  The  reader  remembers,  I  hope,  the  main  points  respect- 
ing the  cornice  and  capital,  established  above  in  the  Chapters 
on  Construction.  Of  these  I  must,  however,  recapitulate  thus 
much  : — 


300 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


1.  That  both  the  cornice  and  capital  are,  with  reference  ta 
the  slope  of  their  profile  or  bell,  to  be  divided  into  two  great 
orders ;  in  one  of  which  the  ornament  is  convex,  and  in  the 
other  concave.    (Ch.  VI.,  §  v.) 

2.  That  the  capital,  with  reference  to  the  method  of  twist- 
ing  the  cornice  round  to  construct  it,  and  to  unite  the  circular 
shaft  with  the  square  abacus,  falls  into  five  general  forms,  rep- 
resented in  Fig.  XXII.,  p.  117. 

3.  That  the  most  elaborate  capitals  were  formed  by  true  or 
simple  capitals  with  a  common  cornice  added  above  their  aba- 
cus.    (Ch.  IX.,  §  xxiv.) 

We  have  then,  in  considering  decoration,  first  to  observe 
the  treatment  of  the  two  great  orders  of  the  cornice  ;  then 
their  gathering  into  the  five  of  the  capital ;  then  the  addition 
of  the  secondary  cornice  to  the  capital  when  formed. 

§  in.  The  two  great  orders  or  families  of  cornice  were 
above  distinguished  in  Fig.  V.,  p.  75.  ;  and  it  was  mentioned 
in  the  same  place  that  a  third  family  arose  from  their  com- 
bination. We  must  deal  with  the  two  great  opposed  groups 
nrst. 

They  were  distinguished  in  Fig.  V.  by  circular  curves  drawn 
on  opposite  sides  of  the  same  line.  But  we  now  know  that 
in  these  smaller  features  the  circle  is  usually  the  least  inter- 
esting curve  that  we  can  use ;  and  that  it  will  be  well,  since 
the  capital  and  cornice  are  both  active  in  their  expression,  to 
use  some  of  the  more  abstract  natural  lines.  We  will  go 
back,  therefore,  to  our  old  friend  the  salvia  leaf  ;  and  taking 
the  same  piece  of  it  we  had  before,  x  y,  Plate  VII.,  we  will 
apply  it  to  the  cornice  line  ;  first  within  it,  giving  the  concave 
cornice,  then  without,  giving  the  convex  cornice.  In  all  the 
figures,  a,  b,  c,  d,  Plate  XV.,  the  dotted  line  is  at  the  same 
slope,  and  represents  an  average  profile  of  the  root  of  cornices 
(a,  Fig.  V.,  p.  75)  ;  the  curve  of  the  salvia  leaf  is  applied  to  it 
in  each  case,  first  with  its  roundest  curvature  up,  then  with 
its  roundest  curvature  down  ;  and  we  have  thus  the  two  varie- 
ties, a  and  b,  of  the  concave  family,  and  c  and  d,  of  the  convex 
family. 

§  iv.  These  four  profiles  will  represent  all  the  simple  cor- 


Pt,ate  XV. — Cornice  Profiles. 


THE  CORNICE  AND  CAPITAL. 


301 


nices  in  the  world  ;  represent  them,  I  mean,  as  central  types ; 
for  in  any  of  the  profiles  an  infinite  number  of  slopes  may  be 
given  to  the  dotted  line  of  the  root  (which  in  these  four  fig- 
ures is  always  at  the  same  angle) ;  and  on  each  of  these  innu- 
merable slopes  an  innumerable  variety  of  curves  may  be  fitted, 
from  every  leaf  in  the  forest,  and  every  shell  on  the  shore, 
and  every  movement  of  the  human  fingers  and  fancy  ;  there- 
fore, if  the  reader  wishes  to  obtain  something  like  a  numerical 
representation  of  the  number  of  possible  and  beautiful  cornices 
which  may  be  based  upon  these  four  types  or  roots,  and  among 
which  the  architect  has  leave  to  choose  according  to  the  cir- 
cumstances of  his  building  and  the  method  of  its  composi- 
tion, let  him  set  down  a  figure  1  to  begin  with,  and  write 
cyphers  after  it  as  fast  as  he  can,  without  stopping,  for  an 
hour. 

§  v.  None  of  the  types  are,  however,  found  in  perfection  of 
curvature,  except  in  the  best  wrork.  Very  often  cornices  are 
worked  with  circular  segments  (with  a  noble,  massive  effect, 
for  instance,  in  St.  Michele  of  Lucca),  or  with  rude  approxi- 
mation to  finer  curvature,  especially  a,  Plate  XV.,  which  oc- 
curs often  so  small  as  to  render  it  useless  to  take  much  pains 
upon  its  curve.  It  occurs  perfectly  pure  in  the  condition  rep- 
resented by  1  of  the  series  1 — 6,  in  Plate  XV.,  on  many  of 
the  Byzantine  and  early  Gothic  buildings  of  Venice  ;  in  more 
developed  form  it  becomes  the  profile  of  the  bell  of  the  capital 
in  the  later  Venetian  Gothic,  and  in  much  of  the  best  North- 
ern Gothic.  It  also  represents  the  Corinthian  capital,  in 
which  the  curvature  is  taken  from  the  bell  to  be  added  in 
some  excess  to  the  nodding  leaves.  It  is  the  most  graceful  of 
all  simple  profiles  of  cornice  and  capital. 

§  vi.  b  is  a  much  rarer  and  less  manageable  type  :  for  this 
evident  reason,  that  while  a  is  the  natural  condition  of  a  line 
rooted  and  strong  beneath,  but  bent  out  by  superincumbent 
weight,  or  nodding  over  in  freedom,  b  is  yielding  at  the  base 
and  rigid  at  the  summit.  It  has,  however,  some  exquisite 
uses,  especially  in  combination,  as  the  reader  may  see  by 
glancing  in  advance  at  the  inner  line  of  the  profile  14  in  Plate 
XV. 


302 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


§  vii.  c  is  the  leading  convex  or  Doric  type,  as  a  is  the  lead* 
ing  concave  or  Corinthian.  Its  relation  to  the  best  Greek 
Doric  is  exactly  what  the  relation  of  a  is  to  the  Corinthian  ; 
that  is  to  say,  the  curvature  must  be  taken  from  the  straighter 
limb  of  the  curve  and  added  to  the  bolder  bend,  giving  it  a 
sudden  turn  inwards  (as  in  the  Corinthian  a  nod  outwards), 
as  the  reader  may  see  in  the  capital  of  the  Parthenon  in  the 
British  Museum,  where  the  lower  limb  of  the  curve  is  all  but  a 
right  line.*  But  these  Doric  and  Oorinthian  lines  are  mere 
varieties  of  the  great  families  which  are  represented  by  the 
central  lines  a  and  c,  including  not  only  the  Doric  capital,  but 
all  the  small  cornices  formed  by  a  slight  increase  of  the  curve 
of  c,  which  are  of  so  frequent  occurrence  in  Greek  ornaments. 

§  viii.  d  is  the  Christian  Doric,  which  I  said  (Chap.  I.,  §  xx.) 
was  invented  to  replace  the  antique  :  it  is  the  representative 
of  the  great  Byzantine  and  Norman  families  of  convex  cornice 
and  capital,  and,  next  to  the  profile  a,  the  most  important  of 
the  four,  being  the  best  profile  for  the  con  vex.  capital,  as  a  is 
for  the  concave  ;  a  being  the  best  expression  of  an  elastic  line 
inserted  vertically  in  the  shaft,  and  d  of  an  elastic  line  inserted 
horizontally  and  rising  to  meet  vertical  pressure. 

If  the  reader  will  glance  at  the  arrangements  of  boughs  of 
trees,  he  will  find  them  commonly  dividing  into  these  two 
families,  a  and  d  :  they  rise  out  of  the  trunk  and  nod  from  it, 
as  a,  or  they  spring  with  sudden  curvature  out  from  it, 
and  rise  into  sympathy  with  it,  as  at  d  ;  but  they  only  acci- 
dentally display  tendencies  to  the  lines  b  or  c.  Boughs  which 
fall  as  they  spring  from  the  tree  also  describe  the  curve  d  in 
the  plurality  of  instances,  but  reversed  in  arrangement ;  their 
junction  with  the  stem  being  at  the  top  of  it,  their  sprays 
bending  out  into  rounder  curvature. 

§  ix.  These  then  being  the  two  primal  groups,  we  have 
next  to  note  the  combined  group,  formed  by  the  concave  and 
convex  lines  joined  in  various  proportions  of  curvature,  so  as 
to  form  together  the  reversed  or  ogee  curve,  represented  in 

*  In  very  early  Doric  it  was  an  absolute  right  line  ;  and  that  capital 
is  therefore  derived  from  the  pure  cornice  root,  represented  by  the 
dotted  line. 


THE  CORNICE  AND  CAPITAL. 


303 


one  of  its  most  beautiful  states  by  the  glacier  line  a,  on  Plate 
VII.  I  would  rather  have  taken  this  line  than  any  other  to 
have  formed  my  third  group  of  cornices  by,  but  as  it  is  too 
large,  and  almost  too  delicate,  we  will  take  instead  that  of  the 
Matterhorn  side,  e  f,  Plate  VII.  For  uniformity's  sake  I  keep 
the  slope  of  the  dotted  line  the  same  as  in  the  primal  forms  ; 
and  applying  this  Matterhorn  curve  in  its  four  relative  posi- 
tions to  that  line,  I  have  the  types  of  the  four  cornices  or 
capitals  of  the  third  family,  e,  f,  g,  h,  on  Plate  XV. 

These  are,  however,  general  types  only  thus  far,  that  their 
line  is  composed  of  one  short  and  one  long  curve,  and  that 
they  represent  the  four  conditions  of  treatment  of  every  such 
line  ;  namely,  the  longest  curve  concave  in  e  and  f9  and  con- 
vex in  g  and  h  ;  and  the  point  of  contrary  flexure  set  high  in 
e  and  g,  and  low  in  f  and  h.  The  relative  depth  of  the  arcs, 
or  nature  of  their  curvature,  cannot  be  taken  into  considera- 
tion without  a  complexity  of  system  which  my  space  does  not 
admit. 

Of  the  four  types  thus  constituted,  e  and  f  are  of  great  im- 
portance ;  the  other  two  are  rarely  used,  having  an  appear- 
ance of  weakness  in  consequence  of  the  shortest  curve  being 
concave  :  the  profiles  e  and  f9  when  used  for  cornices,  have 
usually  a  fuller  sweep  and  somewhat  greater  equality  between 
the  branches  of  the  curve  ;  but  those  here  given  are  better 
representatives  of  the  structure  applicable  to  capitals  and  cor- 
nices indifferently. 

§  x.  Very  often,  in  the  farther  treatment  of  the  profiles  e 
or/,  another  limb  is  added  to  their  curve  in  order  to  join  it  to 
the  upper  or  lower  members  of  the  cornice  or  capital.  I  do 
not  consider  this  addition  as  forming  another  family  of  cor- 
nices, because  the  leading  and  effective  part  of  the  curve  is  in 
these,  as  in  the  others,  the  single  ogee  ;  and  the  added  bend 
is  merely  a  less  abrupt  termination  of  it  above  or  below  :  still 
this  group  is  of  so  great  importance  in  the  richer  kinds  of 
ornamentation  that  we  must  have  it  sufficiently  represented. 
"We  shall  obtain  a  type  of  it  by  merely  continuing  the  line  of 
the  Matterhorn  side,  of  which  before  we  took  only  a  fragment 
The  entire  line  c  to  §  on  Plate  VII.,  is  evidently  composed  of 


304 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


three  curves  of  unequal  lengths,  which  if  we  call  the  shortest 
1,  the  intermediate  one  2,  and  the  longest  3,  are  there  arranged 
in  the  order  1,  3,  2,  counting  upwards.  But  evidently  we 
might  also  have  had  the  arrangements  1,  2,  3,  and  2,  1,  3, 
giving  us  three  distinct  lines,  altogether  independent  of  posi- 
tion, which  being  applied  to  one  general  dotted  slope  will  each 
give  four  cornices,  or  twelve  altogether.  Of  these  the  six 
most  important  are  those  wThich  have  the  shortest  curve  con- 
vex :  they  are  given  in  light  relief  from  k  to  p,  Plate  XV.,  and, 
by  turning  the  page  upside  down,  the  other  six  will  be  seen 
in  dark  relief,  only  the  little  upright  bits  of  shadow  at  the 
bottom  are  not  to  be  considered  as  parts  of  them,  being  only 
admitted  in  order  to  give  the  complete  profile  of  the  more 
important  cornices  in  light. 

§  xi.  In  these  types,  as  in  e  and  fi  the  only  general  condi- 
tion is,  that  their  line  shall  be  composed  of  three  curves  of  dif- 
ferent lengths  and  different  arrangements  (the  depth  of  arcs 
and  radius  of  curvatures  being  unconsidered).  They  are  ar- 
ranged in  three  couples,  each  couple  being  two  positions  of 
the  same  entire  line  ;  so  that  numbering  the  component  curves 
in  order  of  magnitude  and  counting  upwards,  they  will  read — 

k  1,  2,  3, 
I  3,  2,  1, 
m  1,  3,  2, 
n  2,  3,  1, 
o  2,  1,  3, 
p  3,  1,  2. 

7n  and  7?,  which  are  the  Matterhorn  line,  are  the  most  beauti- 
ful and  important  of  all  the  twelve  ;  is  and  I  the  next  ;  o  and 
p  are  used  only  for  certain  conditions  of  flower  carving  on 
the  surface.  The  reverses  (dark)  of  k  and  I  are  also  of  con- 
siderable service  ;  the  other  four  hardly  ever  used  in  good 
work. 

§  xn.  If  we  were  to  add  a  fourth  curve  to  the  component 
series,  we  should  have  forty-eight  more  cornices  :  but  there 
is  no  use  in  pursuing  the  system  further,  as  such  arrange- 


Plate  XVI.— Cornice  Decoration. 


THE  CORNICE  AND  CAPITAL. 


305 


ments  are  very  rare  and  easily  resolved  into  the  simpler  types 
with  certain  arbitrary  additions  fitted  to  their  special  place  ; 
and,  in  most  cases,  distinctly  separate  from  the  main  curve,  as 
in  the  inner  line  of  No.  14,  which  is  a  form  of  the  type  e, 
the  longest  curve,  i.e.,  the  lowest,  having  deepest  curvature, 
and  each  limb  opposed  by  a  short  contrary  curve  at  its  ex- 
tremities, the  convex  limb  by  a  concave,  the  concave  by  a 
convex. 

§  xiii.  Such,  then,  are  the  great  families  of  profile  lines 
into  which  all  cornices  and  capitals  may  be  divided  ;  but  their 
best  examples  unite  two  such  profiles  in  a  mode  which  we 
cannot  understand  till  we  consider  the  further  ornament  with 
which  the  profiles  are  charged.  And  in  doing  this  we  must., 
for  the  sake  of  clearness,  consider,  first  the  nature  of  the  de^ 
signs  themselves,  and  next  the  mode  of  cutting  them. 

§  xiv.  In  Plate  XVI.,  opposite,  I  have  thrown  together  a 
few  of  the  most  characteristic  mediaeval  examples  of  the  treat- 
ment of  the  simplest  cornice  profiles  :  the  uppermost,  a,  is  the 
pure  root  of  cornices  from  St.  Mark's.  The  second,  d,  is  the 
Christian  Doric  cornice,  here  lettered  d  in  order  to  avoid  con- 
fusion, its  profile  being  d  of  Plate  XV.  in  bold  development, 
and  here  seen  on  the  left-hand  side,  truly  drawn,  though  filled 
up  with  the  ornament  to  show  the  mode  in  which  the  angle 
is  turned.  This  is  also  from  St.  Mark's.  The  third,  b,  is  h 
of  Plate  XV.,  the  pattern  being  inlaid  in  black  because  its 
office  was  in  the  interior  of  St.  Mark's,  where  it  was  too  dark 
to  see  sculptured  ornament  at  the  required  distance.  (The 
other  two  simple  profiles,  a  and  c  of  Plate  XV.,  would  be  dec- 
orated in  the  same  manner,  but  require  no  example  here,  for 
the  profile  a  is  of  so  frequent  occurrence  that  it  will  have  a 
page  to  itself  alone  in  the  next  volume  ;  and  c  may  be  seen 
over  nearly  every  shop  in  London,  being  that  of  the  common 
Greek  egg  cornice.)  The  fourth,  e  in  Plate  XVI.,  is  a  tran- 
sitional cornice,  passing  from  Byzantine  into  Venetian  Gothic  : 
f  is  a  fully  developed  Venetian  Gothic  cornice  founded  on 
Byzantine  traditions  ;  and  g  the  perfect  Lombar die-Gothic 
cornice,  founded  on  the  Pisan  Romanesque  traditions,  and 
strongly  marked  with  the  noblest  Northern  element,  the  Lorn' 
Vol.  I.—20 


306 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


bardic  vitality  restrained  by  classical  models.  I  consider  it  a 
perfect  cornice,  and  of  the  highest  order. 

§  xv.  Now  in  the  design  of  this  series  of  ornaments  there 
are  two  main  points  to  be  noted ;  the  first,  that  they  all,  ex- 
cept b,  are  distinctly  rooted  in  the  lower  part  of  the  cornice, 
and  spring  to  the  top.  This  arrangement  is  constant  in  all 
the  best  cornices  and  capitals  ;  and  it  is  essential  to  the  ex- 
pression of  the  supporting  power  of  both.  It  is  exactly  op- 
posed to  the  system  of  running  cornices  and  banded  *  capitals, 
in  which  the  ornament  flows  along  them  horizontally,  or  is 
twined  round  them,  as  the  mouldings  are  in  the  early  English 
capital,  and  the  foliage  in  many  decorated  ones.  Such  cor- 
nices have  arisen  from  a  mistaken  appliance  of  the  running 
ornaments,  which  are  proper  to  archivolts,  jambs,  &c,  to  the 
features  which  have  definite  functions  of  support.  A  tendril 
may  nobly  follow  the  outline  of  an  arch,  but  must  not  creep 
along  a  cornice,  nor  swathe  or  bandage  a  capital ;  it  is  essen- 
tial to  the  expression  of  these  features  that  their  ornament 
should  have  an  elastic  and  upward  spring  ;  and  as  the  proper 
profile  for  the  curve  is  that  of  a  tree  bough,  as  we  saw  above, 
so  the  proper  arrangement  of  its  farther  ornament  is  that 
which  best  expresses  rooted  and  ascendant  strength  like  that 
of  foliage. 

There  are  certain  very  interesting  exceptions  to  the  rule  (we 
shall  see  a  curious  one  presently)  ;  and  in  the  carrying  out  of 
the  rule  itself,  we  may  see  constant  licenses  taken  by  the  great 
designers,  and  momentary  violations  of  it,  like  those  above 
spoken  of,  respecting  other  ornamental  laws — violations  which 
are  for  our  refreshment,  and  for  increase  of  delight  in  the 
general  observance  ;  and  this  is  one  of  the  peculiar  beauties 
of  the  cornice  g,  which,  rooting  itself  in  strong  central  clus- 
ters, suffers  some  of  its  leaves  to  fall  languidly  aside,  as  the 
drooping  outer  leaves  of  a  natural  cluster  do  so  often  ;  but  at 
the  very  instant  that  it  does  this,  in  order  that  it  may  not 

*  The  word  banded  is  used  by  Professor  Willis  in  a  different  sense  ; 
which  I  would  respect,  by  applying  it  in  his  sense  always  to  the  Impost, 
and  in  mine  to  the  capital  itself.  (This  note  is  not  for  the  genera] 
reader,  who  need  not  trouble  himself  about  the  matter.) 


THE  CORNICE  AND  CAPITAL. 


307 


lose  any  of  its  expression  of  strength,  a  fruit-stalk  is  thrown 
up  above  the  languid  leaves,  absolutely  vertical,  as  much  stiffer 
and  stronger  than  the  rest  of  the  plant  as  the  falling  leaves 
are  weaker.  Cover  this  with  your  finger,  and  the  cornice  falls 
to  pieces,  like  a  bouquet  which  has  been  untied. 

§  xvi.  There  are  some  instances  in  which,  though  the  real 
arrangement  is  that  of  a  running  stem,  throwing  off  leaves  up 
and  down,  the  positions  of  the  leaves  give  nearly  as  much 
elasticity  and  organisation  to  the  cornice,  as  if  they  had  been 
rightly  rooted ;  and  others,  like  b,  where  the  reversed  portion 
of  the  ornament  is  lost  in  the  shade,  and  the  general  expres- 
sion of  strength  is  got  by  the  lower  member.  This  cornice 
will,  nevertheless,  be  felt  at  once  to  be  inferior  to  the  rest ; 
and  though  we  may  often  be  called  upon  to  admire  designs 
of  these  kinds,  which  would  have  been  exquisite  if  not  thus 
misplaced,  the  reader  will  find  that  they  are  both  of  rare  oc- 
currence, and  significative  of  declining  style  ;  while  the  greater 
mass  of  the  banded  capitals  are  heavy  and  valueless,  mere  ag- 
gregations of  confused  sculpture,  swathetl-iotund  the  extremity 
of  the  shaft,  as  if  she  had  dipped  it  into^/mass  of  melted  or- 
nament, as  the  glass-blower  does  his  blow-pipe  into  the  metal, 
and  brought  up  a  quantity  adhering  glufinously  to  its  ex- 
tremity. We  have  many  capitals  of  this  kind  in  England  : 
some  of  the  worst  and  heaviest  in  the  choir  of  York.  The 
later  capitals  of  the  Italian  Gothic  have  the  same  kind  of  ef- 
fect, but  owing  to  another  cause  :  for  their  structure  is  quite 
pure,  and  based  on  the  Corinthian  type  :  and  it  is  the  branch- 
ing form  of  the  heads  of  the  leaves  which  destroys  the  effect 
of  their  organisation.  On  the  other  hand,  some  of  the  Italian 
cornices  which  are  actually  composed  by  running  tendrils, 
throwing  off  leaves  into  oval  interstices,  are  so  massive  in  their 
treatment,  and  so  marked  and  firm  in  their  vertical  and  arched 
lines,  that  they  are  nearly  as  suggestive  of  support  as  if  they 
had  been  arranged  on  the  rooted  system.  A  cornice  of  this 
kind  is  used  in  St.  Michele  of  Lucca  (Plate  VI.  in  the  "  Seven 
Lamps,"  and  XXI.  here),  and  with  exquisite  propriety ;  for 
that  cornice  is  at  once  a  crown  to  the  story  beneath  it  and  r 
foundation  to  that  which  is  above  it,  and  therefore  unites  tha 


308 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


strength  and  elasticity  of  the  lines  proper  to  the  cornice  witli 
the  submission  and  prostration  of  those  proper  to  the  founda- 
tion. 

§  xvii.  This,  then,  is  the  first  point  needing  general  notice 
in  the  designs  in  Plate  XVI.  The  second  is  the  difference 
between  the  freedom  of  the  Northern  and  the  sophistication 
of  the  classical  cornices,  in  connection  with  what  has  been 
advanced  in  Appendix  8.  The  cornices,  a,  d,  and  b,  are  of 
the  same  date,  but  they  show  a  singular  difference  in  the 
workman's  temper  :  that  at  b  is  a  single  copy  of  a  classical 
mosaic  ;  and  many  carved  cornices  occur,  associated  with  it, 
which  are,  in  like  manner,  mere  copies  of  the  Greek  and 
Roman  egg  and  arrow  mouldings.  But  the  cornices  a  and  d 
are  copies  of  nothing  of  the  kind  :  the  idea  of  them  has  in- 
deed been  taken  from  the  Greek  honeysuckle  ornament,  but 
the  chiselling  of  them  is  in  no  wise  either  Greek,  or  Byzan- 
tine, in  temper.  The  Byzantines  were  languid  copyists  :  this 
work  is  as  energetic  as  its  original ;  energetic,  not  in  the 
quantity  of  work,  but  in  the  spirit  of  it  :  an  indolent  man, 
forced  into  toil,  may  cover  large  spaces  with  evidence  of  his 
feeble  action,  or  accumulate  his  dulness  into  rich  aggregation 
of  trouble,  but  it  is  gathered  weariness  still.  The  man  who 
cut  those  two  uppermost  cornices  had  no  time  to  spare  :  did 
as  much  cornice  as  he  could  in  half  an  hour  ;  but  would  not 
endure  the  slightest  trace  of  error  in  a  curve,  or  of  biuntness 
in  an  edge.  His  work  is  absolutely  unreprovable  ;  keen,  and 
true,  as  Nature's  own  ;  his  entire  force  is  in  it,  and  fixed  on 
seeing  that  every  line  of  it  shall  be  sharp  and  right :  the 
faithful  energy  is  in  him  :  wre  shall  see  something  come  of 
that  cornice  :  The  fellow  who  inlaid  the  other  (6),  will  stay 
where  he  is  for  ever  ;  and  when  he  has  inlaid  one  leaf  up, 
will  inlay  another  down, — and  so  undulate  up  and  down  to 
all  eternity  :  but  the  man  of  a  and  d  will  cut  his  way  forward, 
or  there  is  no  truth  in  handicrafts,  nor  stubbornness  in  stone. 

§  xviii.  But  there  is  something  else  noticeable  in  those  two 
cornices,  besides  the  energy  of  them :  as  opposed  either  to  b, 
or  the  Greek  honeysuckle  or  egg  patterns,  they  are  natural 
designs.    The  Greek  egg  and  arrow  cornice  is  a  nonsense 


THE  CORNICE  AND  CAPITAL. 


309 


cornice,  very  noble  in  its  lines,  but  utterly  absurd  in  mean- 
ing. Arrows  have  had  nothing  to  do  with  eggs  (at  least  since 
Leda's  time),  neither  are  the  so-called  arrowTs  like  arrows,  nor 
the  eggs  like  eggs,  nor  the  honeysuckles  like  honeysuckles  ; 
they  are  all  conventionalised  into  a  monotonous  successiveness 
of  nothing, — pleasant  to  the  eye,  useless  to  the  thought.  But 
those  Christian  cornices  are,  as  far  as  may  be,  suggestive  ; 
there  is  not  the  tenth  of  the  work  in  them  that  there  is  in  the 
Greek  arrows,  but,  as  far  as  that  work  will  go,  it  has  consistent 
intention  ;  with  the  fewest  possible  incisions,  and  those  of  the 
easiest  shape,  they  suggest  the  true  image,  of  clusters  of 
leaves,  each  leaf  with  its  central  depression  from  root  to 
point,  and  that  distinctly  visible  at  almost  any  distance  from 
the  eye,  and  in  almost  any  light. 

§  xix.  Here,  then,  are  two  great  new  elements  visible , 
energy  and  naturalism  : — Life,  with  submission  to  the  laws  of 
God,  and  love  of  his  wrorks  ;  this  is  Christianity,  dealing  with 
her  classical  models.  Now  look  back  to  what  1  said  in  Chap. 
I.  §  xx.  of  this  dealing  of  hers,  and  invention  of  the  new  Doric 
line  ;  then  to  what  is  above  stated  (§  vm.)  respecting  that  new 
Doric,  and  the  boughs  of  trees ;  and  now  to  the  evidence  in 
the  cutting  of  the  leaves  on  the  same  Doric  section,  and  see 
how  the  whole  is  beginning  to  come  together. 

§  xx.  "We  said  that  something  would  come  of  these  two 
cornices,  a  and  d.  In  e  and  f  we  see  that  something  has  come 
of  them :  e  is  also  from  St.  Mark's,  and  one  of  the  earliest 
examples  in  Venice  of  the  transition  from  the  Byzantine  to 
the  Gothic  cornice.  It  is  already  singularly  developed  ;  flow- 
ers have  been  added  between  the  clusters  of  leaves,  and  the 
leaves  themselves  curled  over  :  and  observe  the  well-directed 
thought  of  the  sculptor  in  this'  curling  ; — the  old  incisions  are 
retained  below,  and  their  excessive  rigidity  is  one  of  the 
proofs  of  the  earliness  of  the  cornice  ;  but  those  incisions  now 
stand  for  the  under  surface  of  the  leaf ;  and  behold,  when  it 
turns  over,  on  the  top  of  it  you  see  true  ribs.  Look  at  the 
upper  and  under  surface  of  a  cabbage-leaf,  and  see  what  quick 
steps  we  are  making. 

§  xxi.  The  fifth  example  (/)  was  cut  in  1347  ;  it  is  from 


310 


THE  STONES  OF  VENIOE. 


the  tomb  of  Marco  Giustiniani,  in  the  church  of  St.  John  anci 
Paul,  and  it  exhibits  the  character  of  the  central  Venetian 
Gothic  fully  developed.  The  lines  are  all  now  soft  and  unci  di- 
latory, though  elastic ;  the  sharp  incisions  have  become  deeply- 
gathered  folds  ;  the  hollow  of  the  leaf  is  expressed  completely 
beneath,  and  its  edges  are  touched  with  light,  and  incised  intc 
several  lobes,  and  their  ribs  delicately  drawn  above.  (The 
flower  between  is  only  accidentally  absent ;  it  occurs  in  most 
cornices  of  the  time.) 

But  in  both  these  cornices  the  reader  will  notice  that  while 
the  naturalism  of  the  sculpture  is  steadily  on  the  increase,  the 
classical  formalism  is  still  retained.  The  leaves  are  accurately 
numbered,  and  sternly  set  in  their  places  ;  they  are  leaves  in 
office,  and  dare  not  stir  nor  wave.  They  have  the  shapes  of 
leaves,  but  not  the  functions,  (i  having  the  form  of  knowledge, 
but  denying  the  power  thereof."  What  is  the  meaning  of 
this? 

8  xxn.  Look  back  to  paragraph  xxxiii.  of  the  first  chapter, 
and  you  will  see  the  meaning  of  it.  These  cornices  are  the 
Venetian  Ecclesiastical  Gothic  ;  the  Christian  element  strug- 
gling with  the  Formalism  of  the  Papacy, — the  Papacy  being 
entirely  heathen  in  all  its  principles.  That  officialism  of  the 
leaves  and  their  ribs  means  Apostolic  succession,  and  I  don't 
know  how  much  more,  and  is  already  preparing  for  the  transi- 
tion to  old  Heathenism  again,  and  the  Renaissance.* 

§  xxfit  Now  look  to  the  last  cornice  (g).  That  is  Protestant- 

*  The  Renaissance  period  being  one  of  return  to  formalism  on  the 
one  side,  of  utter  licentiousness  on  the  other,  so  that  sometimes,  as  here, 
I  have  to  declare  its  lifelessness,  at  other  times  (Chap.  XXV.,  §  xvn.) 
its  iasciviousness.  There  is,  of  course,  no  contradiction  in  this:  but 
the  reader  might  well  ask  how  I  knew  the  change  from  the  base  11  to 
the  base  12,  in  Plate  XII.,  to  be  one  from  temperance  to  luxury  ;  and 
from  the  cornice/ to  the  cornice  g,  in  Plate  XVI.,  to  be  one  from  form- 
alism to  vitality.  I  know  it,  both  by  certain  internal  evidences,  on 
which  I  shall  have  to  dwell  at  length  hereafter,  and  by  the  context  of 
the  works  of  the  time.  But  the  outward  signs  might  in  both  ornaments 
be  the  same,  distinguishable  only  as  signs  of  opposite  tendencies  by  the 
event  of  both.  The  blush  of  shame  cannot  always  be  told  from  the 
blush  of  indignation. 


THE  CORNICE  AND  CAPITAL. 


311 


jgja, — a  slight  touch  of  Dissent,  hardly  amounting  to  schism, 
in  those  falling  leaves,  but  true  life  in  the  whole  of  it.  The 
forms  all  broken  through,  and  sent  heaven  knows  where,  but 
the  root  held  fast ;  and  the  strong  sap  in  tl>e  branches  ;  and, 
best  of  all,  good  fruit  ripening  and  opening  straight  towards 
heaven,  and  in  the  face  of  it,  even  though  some  of  the  leaves 
lie  in  the  dust. 

Now,  observe.  The  cornice/  represents  Heathenism  and 
Papistry,  animated  by  the  mingling  of  Christianity  and  nature. 
The  good  in  it,  the  life  of  it,  the  veracity  and  liberty  of  it, 
such  as  it  has,  are  Protestantism  in  its  heart ;  the,  rigidity  and 
saplessness  are  the  Romanism  of  it.  It  is  thG  mind  of  Fra 
Angelico  in  the  monk's  dress, — Christianity  before  the  Refor- 
mation. The  cornice  g  has  the  Lombardic  life  element  in  its 
fulness,  with  only  some  color  and  shape  of  Ciassicalism  min- 
gled with  it — the  good  of  classicalism  ;  as  much  method  and 
Formalism  as  are  consistent  with  life,  and  fitting  for  it  :  The 
continence  within  certain  border  lines,  the  unity  at  the  root, 
the  simplicity  of  the  great  profile, — all  these  are  the  healthy 
classical  elements  retained :  the  rest  is  reformation,  new 
strength,  and  recovered  liberty. 

§  xxiv.  There  is  one  more  point  about  it  especially  notice- 
able. The  leaves  are  thoroughly  natural  in  their  general  char- 
acter, but  they  are  of  no  particular  species  :  and  after  being 
something  like  cabbage-leaves  in  the  beginning,  one  of  them 
suddenly  becomes  an  ivy-leaf  in  the  end.  Now  I  don't  know 
what  to  say  of  this.  I  know  it,  indeed,  to  be  a  classical  char- 
acter ; — it  is  eminently  characteristic  of  Southern  work  ;  and 
markedly  distinctive  of  it  from  the  Northern  ornament,  which 
would  have  been  oak,  or  ivy,  or  apple,  but  not  anything,  nor 
two  things  in  one.  It  is,  I  repeat,  a  clearly  classical  element ; 
but  whether  a  good  or  bad  element,  I  am  not  sure  ; — whether 
it  is  the  last  trace  of  Centaurism  and  other  monstrosity  dying 
away  ;  or  whether  it  has  a  figurative  purpose,  legitimate  in 
architecture  (though  never  in  painting),  and  has  been  rightly 
retained  by  the  Christian  sculptor,  to  express  the  working  of 
that  spirit  which  grafts  one  nature  upon  another,  and  discerns 
a  law  in  its  members  warring  against  the  law  of  its  mind. 


312 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


§  xxv.  These,  then,  being  the  points  most  noticeable  in  the 
spirit  both  of  the  designs  and  the  chiselling,  we  have  now  to 
return  to  the  question  proposed  in  §  xm.,  and  observe  the 
modifications  of  form  of  profile  which  resulted  from  the 
changing  contours  of  the  leafage  ;  for  up  to  §  xm.,  we  had,  as 
usual,  considered  the  possible  conditions  of  form  in  the  ab- 
stract ; — the  modes  in  which  they  have  been  derived  from 
each  other  in  actual  practice  require  to  be  followed  in  their 
turn.  How  the  Greek  Doric  or  Greek  ogee  cornices  were 
invented  is  not  easy  to  determine,  and,  fortunately,  is  little  to 
our  present  purpose  ;  for  the  mediaeval  ogee  cornices  have  an 
independent  development  of  their  own,  from  the  first  type  of 
the  concave  cornice  a  in  Plate  XV. 

§  xxvi.  That  cornice  occurs,  in  the  simplest  work,  perfectly 

pure,  but  in  finished  work  it 
—  was   quickly  felt  that  there 
was  a  meagreness  in  its  juncr 
tion  with  the  wall  beneath  it, 
where  it  was  set  as  here  at  a, 
SF    Fig.  LXXH,  which  could  only 
w    be  conquered  by  concealing 
a>  h  e      such    junction  in  a  bar  of 

fig.  lxiii.  shadow.  There  were  two  ways 

of  getting  this  bar :  one  by  a 
projecting  roll  at  the  foot  of  the  cornice  (6,  Fig.  LXIII.),  the 
other  by  slipping  the  whole  cornice  a  little  forward  (c.  Fig. 
LXIII.).  From  these  two  methods  arise  two  groups  of  cor- 
nices and  capitals,  which  we  shall  pursue  in  succession. 

§  xxvu.  First  group.  With  the  roll  at  the  base  (6,  Fig, 
LXIII).  The  chain  of  its  succession  is  represented  from  1 
to  6,  in  Plate  XV.  :  1  and  2  are  the  steps  already  gained,  as  in 
Fig.  LXELI.  ;  and  in  them  the  profile  of  cornice  used  is  a  of 
Plate  XV.,  or  a  refined  condition  of  b  of  Fig.  V.,  p.  75  abova 
Now,  keeping  the  same  refined  profile,  substitute  the  condition 
of  it, /of  Fig.  V.  (and  there  accounted  for),  above  the  roll 
here,  and  you  have  3,  Plate  XV.  This  superadded  abacus 
was  instantly  felt  to  be  harsh  in  its  projecting  angle  ;  but  you 
know  what  to  do  with  an  angle  when  it  is  harsh.    Use  your 


THE  CORNICE  AND  CAPITAL. 


313 


simplest  chamfer  on  it  (a  or  b,  Fig.  LIIL,  page  261,  above), 
but  on  the  visible  side  only,  and  you  have  fig.  4,  Plate  XV. 
(the  top  stone  being  made  deeper  that  you  may  have  room  to 
chamfer  it).  Now  this  fig.  4  is  the  profile  of  Lombardic  and 
Venetian  early  capitals  and  cornices,  by  tens  of  thousands  ; 
and  it  continues  into  the  late  Venetian  Gothic,  with  this  only 
difference,  that  as  time  advances,  the  vertical  line  at  the  top 
of  the  original  cornice  begins  to  slope  outwards,  and  through 
a  series  of  years  rises  like  the  hazel  wand  in  the  hand  of  a 
diviner  : — but  how  slowly  !  a  stone  dial  which  marches  but  45 
degrees  in  three  centuries,  and  through  the  intermediate  con- 
dition 5  arrives  at  6,  and  so  stays. 

In  tracing  this  chain  I  have  kept  all  the  profiles  of  the  same 
height  in  order  to  make  the  comparison  more  easy ;  the  depth 
chosen  is  about  intermediate  between  that  which  is  customary 
in  cornices  on  the  one  hand,  which  are  often  a  little  shorter, 
and  capitals  on  the  other,  which  are  often  a  little  deeper.* 
And  it  is  to  be  noted  that  the  profiles  5  and  G  establish  them- 
selves in  capitals  chiefly,  while  4  is  retained  in  cornices  to  the 
latest  times. 

§  xxviii.  Second  group  (c,  Fig.  LXIIL).  If  the  lower  angle, 
which  was  quickly  felt  to  be  hard,  be  rounded  off,  we  have 
the  form  a,  Fig.  LXIV.  The  front  of  the  curved  line  is  then 
decorated,  as  we  have  seen  ;  and  the  termination  of  the  deco- 
rated surface  marked  by  an  incision,  as  in  an  ordinary  cham- 
fer, as  at  b  here.    This  I  believe  to  have  been  the  simple  ori- 

*  The  reader  must  always  remember  that  a  cornice,  in  becoming  a 
capital,  must,  if  not  originally  bold  and  deep,  have  depth  added  to  its 
profile,  in  order  to  reach  the  just  proportion  of  the  lower  member  of  the 
shaft  head  ;  and  that  therefore  the  small  Greek  egg  cornices  are  utterly 
incapable  of  becoming  capitals  till  they  have  totally  changed  their  form 
and  depth  The  Renaissance  architects,  who  never  obtained  hold  of  a 
right  principle  but  they  made  it  worse  than  a  wrong  one  by  misapplica- 
tion, caught  the  idea  of  turning  the  cornice  into  a  capital,  but  did  not 
comprehend  the  necessity  of  the  accompanying  change  of  depth.  Hence 
we  have  pilaster  heads  formed  of  small1  egg  cornices,  and  that  meanest 
of  all  mean  heads  of  shafts,  the  coarse  Roman  Doric  profile  chopped 
into  a  small  egg  and  arrow  moulding,  both  which  may  be  seen  disfigur 
ing  half  the  buildings  in  London. 


314 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE, 


gin  of  most  of  the  Venetian  ogee  cornices  ;  but  they  are  farther 
complicated  by  the  curves  given  to  the  leafage  which  flows 
over  them.  In  the  ordinary  Greek  cornices,  and  in  a  and  d 
of  Plate  XVI,  the  decoration  is  incised  from  the  outside  pro- 
file, without  any  suggestion  of  an  interior  surface  of  a  differ- 
ent contour.  But  in  the  leaf  cornices  which  follow7,  the 
decoration  is  represented  as  overlaid  on  one  of  the  early 
profiles,  and  has  another  outside  contour  of  its  own  ;  wrhich 
is,  indeed,  the  true  profile  of  the  cornice,  but  beneath  which, 
more  or  less,  the  simpler  profile  is  seen  or  suggested,  which 
terminates  all  the  incisions  of  the  chisel.  This  under  pro- 
file w7ill  often  be  found  to  be  some  condition  of  the  type  a  or 
b,  Fig.  LXIV.  ;  and  the  leaf  profile  to  be  another  ogee  with 
its  fullest  curve  up  instead  of  down,  lapping  over  the  cornice 


but  of  which  I  had  not  marked  the  innermost  profile,  and 
which  I  have  given  here  only  to  complete  the  series 
which,  from  7  to  12  inclusive,  exemplifies  the  gradual  restric- 
tion of  the  leaf  outline,  from  its  boldest  projection  in  the 
cornice  to  its  most  modest  service  in  the  capital.  This  change, 
however,  is  not  one  which  indicates  difference  of  age,  but 
merely  of  office  and  position  :  the  cornice  7  is  from  the 
tomb  of  the  Doge  Andrea  Dandolo  (1350)  in  Si  Mark's,  8 
from  a  canopy  over  a  door  of  about  the  same  period,  9  from 
the  tomb  of  the  Dogaressa  Agnese  Venier  (1411),  10  from  that 
of  Pietro  Cornaro  (1361),*  and  11  from  that  of  Andrea  Moro- 
sini  (1347),  all  in  the  church  of  San  Giov.  and  Paola,  all  there 
being  cornice  profiles  ;  and,  finally,  12  from  a  capital  of  the 
Ducal  Palace,  of  fourteenth  century  work. 

*  I  have  taken  these  dates  roughly  from  Selvatico  ;  their  absolute  ao 
curacy  to  within  a  year  or  two,  is  here  of  no  importance 


Fig.  LXIV. 


edge  above,  so  that  the  entire  pro- 
file might  be  considered  as  made 
up  of  two  ogee  curves  laid,  like 
packed  herrings,  head  to  tail. 
Figures  8  and  9  of  Plate  XV.  ex- 
emplify this  arrangement.  Fig. 
7  is  a  heavier  contour,  doubtless 
composed  in  the   same  manner, 


TEE  CORNICE  AND  CAPITAL. 


315 


§  xxix.  Now  the  reader  will  doubtless  notice  that  in  the 
three  examples,  10  to  12,  the  leaf  has  a  different  contour  from 
that  of  7,  8,  or  9.  This  difference  is  peculiarly  significant.  I 
have  always  desired  that  the  reader  should  theoretically  con 
sider  the  capital  as  a  concentration  of  the  cornice  ;  but  in 
practice  it  often  happens  that  the  cornice  is,  on  the  contrary, 
an  unrolled  capital ;  and  one  of  the  richest  early  forms  of  the 
Byzantine  cornice  (not  given  in  Plate  XV.,  because  its  sepa- 
rate character  and  importance  require  examination  apart)  is 
nothing  more  than  an  unrolled  continuation  of  the  lower  range 
of  acanthus  leaves  on  the  Corinthian  capital.  From  this  cor- 
nice others  appear  to  have  been  derived,  like  e  in  Plate  XVI., 
in  which  the  acanthus  outline  has  become  confused  with  that 
of  the  honeysuckle,  and  the  rosette  of  the  centre  of  the  Co- 
rinthian capital  introduced  between  them  ;  and  thus  their 
forms  approach  more  and  more  to  those  derived  from  the  cor- 
nice itself.  Now  if  the  leaf  has  the  contour  of  10,  11,  or  12, 
Plate  XV.,  the  profile  is  either  actually  of  a  capital,  or  of  a 
cornice  derived  from  a  capital ;  while,  if  the  leaf  have  the  con- 
tour of  7  or  8,  the  profile  is  either  actually  of  a  cornice  or  of 
a  capital  derived  from  a  cornice.  Where  the  Byzantines  use 
the  acanthus,  the  Lombards  use  the  Persepolitan  water-leaf ; 
but  the  connection  of  the  cornices  and  capitals  is  exactly  the 
same. 

§  xxx.  Thus  far,  however,  we  have  considered  the  charac- 
ters of  profile  which  are  common  to  the  cornice  and  capital 
both.  We  have  now  to  note  what  farther  decorative  features 
or  peculiarities  belong  to  the  capital  itself,  or  result  from  the 
theoretical  gathering  of  the  one  into  the  other. 

Look  back  to  Fig.  XXII,  p.  117.  The  five  types  there 
given,  represented  the  five  different  methods  of  concentration 
of  the  root  of  cornices,  a  of  Fig.  V.  Now,  as  many  profiles 
of  cornices  as  were  developed  in  Plate  XV.  from  this  cornice 
root,  there  represented  by  the  dotted  slope,  so  many  may  be 
applied  to  each  of  the  five  types  in  Fig.  XXIL, — applied  sim- 
ply in  a  and  6,  but  with  farther  modifications,  necessitated  by 
their  truncations  or  spurs,  iu  c,  d,  and  e. 

Then,  these  cornice  profiles  having  been  so  applied  in  such 


316 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


.length  and  slope  as  is  proper  for  capitals,  the  farther  condition 
comes  into  effect  described  in  Chapter  IX.  §  xxiv.,  and  any 
one  of  the  cornices  in  Plate  XV.  may  become  the  abacus  of  a 
capital  formed  out  of  any  other,  or  out  of  itself.  The  infinity 
of  forms  thus  resultant  cannot,  as  may  well  be  supposed,  be 
exhibited  or  catalogued  in  the  space  at  present  permitted  to 
us  :  but  the  reader,  once  master  of  the  principle,  will  easily  be 
able  to  investigate  for  himself  the  syntax  of  all  examples  ihat 
may  occur  to  him,  and  I  shall  only  here,  as  a  kind  of  exercise, 
put  before  him  a  few  of  those  which  he  will  meet  with  most 
frequently  in  his  Venetian  inquiries,  or  which  illustrate  points, 
not  hitherto  touched  upon,  in  the  disposition  of  the  abacus. 

§  xxxi.  In  Plate  XVII.  the  capital  at  the  top,  on  the  left 
hand,  is  the  rudest  possible  gathering  of  the  plain  Christian 
Doric  cornice,  d  of  Plate  XV.  The  shaft  is  octagonal,  and 
the  capital  is  not  cut  to  fit  it,  but  is  square  at  the  base  ;  and 
the  curve  of  its  profile  projects  on  two  of  its  sides  more  than 
on  the  other  two,  so  as  to  make  the  abacus  oblong,  in  order  to 
carry  an  oblong  mass  of  brickwork,  dividing  one  of  the  upper 
lights  of  a  Lombard  campanile  at  Milan.  The  awkward 
stretching  of  the  brickwork,  to  do  what  the  capital  ought  to 
have  done,  is  very  remarkable.  There  is  here  no  second  su- 
perimposed abacus. 

§  xxxii.  The  figure  on  the  right  hand,  at  the  top,  shows  the 
simple  but  perfect  fulfilment  of  all  the  requirements  in  which 
the  first  example  fails.  The  mass  of  brickwork  to  be  carried 
is  exactly  the  same  in  size  and  shape  ;  but  instead  of  being 
trusted  to  a  single  shaft,  it  has  two  of  smaller  area  (compare 
Chap.  VIII,  §  xiil),  and  all  the  expansion  necessary  is  now 
gracefully  attained  by  their  united  capitals,  hewn  out  of  one 
stone.  Take  the  section  of  these  capitals  through  their  angle, 
and  nothing  can  be  simpler  or  purer  ;  it  is  composed  of  2,  in 
Plate  XV.,  used  for  the  capital  itself,  with  c  of  Fig.  LXIII. 
used  for  the  abacus ;  the  reader  could  hardly  have  a  neater 
little  bit  of  syntax  for  a  first  lesson.  If  the  section  be  taken 
through  the  side  of  the  bell,  the  capital  profile  is  the  root  of 
cornices,  a  of  Fig.  V.,  with  the  added  roll.  This  capital  is?) 
somewhat  remarkable  in  having  its  sides  perfectly  straight 


Plate  XVII.— Capitals.    Concave  Group. 


THE  CORNICE  AND  CAPITAL. 


317 


some  slight  curvature  being  usual  on  so  bold  a  scale  ;  but  it  is 
all  the  better  as  a  first  example,  the  method  of  reduction  being 
of  order  d,  in  Fig.  XXII.,  p.  117,  and  with  a  concave  cut,  as 
in  Fig.  XXL,  p.  116.  These  two  capitals  are  from  the  cloister 
of  the  cluomo  of  Verona. 

§  xxxni.  The  lowermost  figure  in  Plate  XVII.  represents 
an  exquisitely  finished  example  of  the  same  type,  from  St. 
Zeno  of  Verona.  Above,  at  2,  in  Plate  II,  the  plan  of  the 
shafts  was  given,  but  I  inadvertently  reversed  their  position : 
in  comparing  that  plan  with  Plate  XVII.,  Plate  II.  must  be 
held  upside  down.  The  capitals,  with  the  band  connecting 
them,  are  all  cut  out  of  one  block  ;  their  profile  is  an  adapta- 
tion of  4  of  Plate  XV,  with  a  plain  headstone  superimposed. 
This  method  of  reduction  is  that  of  order  d  in  Fig.  XXIL, 


Fig.  LXV. 


but  the  peculiarity  of  treatment  of  their  truncation  is  highly 
interesting.  Fig.  LXV.  represents  the  plans  of  the  capitals 
at  the  base,  the  shaded  parts  being  the  bells  :  the  open  line, 
the  roll  with  its  connecting  band.  The  bell  of  the  one,  it  will 
be  seen,  is  the  exact  reverse  of  that  of  the  other  :  the  angle 
truncations  are,  in  both,  curved  horizontally  as  well  as  up- 
rightly ;  but  their  curve  is  convex  in  the  one,  and  in  the  other 
concave.  Plate  XVII.  will  show  the  effect  of  both,  with  the 
farther  incisions,  to  the  same  depth,  on  the  flank  of  the  one 
with  the  concave  truncation,  which  join  with  the  rest  of  its 


$18 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


singularly  bold  and  keen  execution  in  giving  the  impression 
of  its  rather  having  been  cloven  into  its  form  by  the  sweeps  of 
a  sword,  than  by  the  dull  travail  of  a  chisel.  Its  workman 
was  proud  of  it,  as  well  he  might  be  :  he  has  written  his  name 
upon  its  front  (I  would  that  more  of  his  fellows  had  been  as 
kindly  vain),  and  the  goodly  stone  proclaims  for  ever,  ada- 

MINUS  DE  SANCTO  GIORGIO  ME  FECIT. 

§  xxxiv.  The  reader  will  easily  understand  that  the  grace- 
fulness of  this  kind  of  truncation,  as  he  sees  it  in  Plate  XVII., 
soon  suggested  the  idea  of  reducing  it  to  a  vegetable  outline, 
and  laying  four  healing  leaves,  as  it  were,  upon  the  wounds 
which  the  sword  had  made.  These  four  leaves,  on  the  trun- 
cations of  the  capital,  correspond  to  the  four  leaves  which  we 
saw,  in  like  manner,  extend  themselves  over  the  spurs  of  the 
base,  and,  as  they  increase  in  delicacy  of  execution,  form  one 
of  the  most  lovely  groups  of  capitals  which  the  Gothic  work- 
men ever  invented  ;  represented  by  two  perfect  types  in  the 
capitals  of  the  Piazzetta  columns  of  Venice.  But  this  pure 
group  is  an  isolated  one  ;  it  remains  in  the  first  simplicity  of  its 
conception  far  into  the  thirteenth  century,  while  around  it  rise 
up  a  crowd  of  other  forms,  imitative  of  the  old  Corinthian, 
and  in  which  other  and  younger  leaves  spring  up  in  luxuriant 
growth  among  the  primal  four.  The  varieties  of  their  group- 
ing we  shall  enumerate  hereafter :  one  general  characteristic 
of  them  all  must  be  noted  here. 

§  xxxv.  The  reader  has  been  told  repeatedly  *  that  there 
are  two,  and  only  two,  real  orders  of  capitals,  originally  repre- 
sented by  the  Corinthian  and  the  Doric  ;  and  distinguished  by 
the  concave  or  convex  contours  of  their  bells,  as  shown  by  the 
dotted  lines  at  e,  Fig.  V.,  p.  75.  And  hitherto,  respecting  the 
capital,  we  have  been  exclusively  concerned  with  the  methods" 
in  which  these  two  families  of  simple  contours  have  gathered 
themselves  together,  and  obtained  reconciliation  to  the  abacus 
above,  and  the  shaft  below.  But  the  last  paragraph  introduces 
us  to  the  surface  ornament  disposed  upon  these,  in  the  chisel- 
ling of  which  the  characters  described  above,  §  xxvm.,  which 


*  Chap.  I.  §  xix.,  Appendix  7:  and  Chap.  VI.  §  V. 


THE  CORNICE  AND  CAPITAL. 


319 


are  but  feebly  marked  in  the  cornice,  boldly  distinguished  and 
divide  the  families  of  the  capital. 

§  xxxvi.  Whatever  the  nature  of  the  ornament  be,  it  muaji 
clearly  have  relief  of  some  kind,  and  must  present  projecting 
surfaces  separated  by  incisions.  But  it  is  a  very  material  ques- 
tion whether  the  contour,  hitherto  broadly  considered  as  that 
of  the  entire  bell,  shall  be  that  of  the  outside  of  the  project 
ing  and  relieved  ornaments,  or  of  the  bottoms  of  the  incisions 
which  divide  them  ;  whether,  that  is  to  say,  we  shall  first  cut 
out  the  bell  of  our  capital  quite  smooth,  and  then  cut  farther 
into  it,  with  incisions,  which  shall  leave  ornamental  forms  in 
relief,  or  whether,  in  originally  cutting  the  contour  of  the  bell, 
we  shall  leave  projecting  bits  of  stone,  which  we  may  after- 
wards work  into  the  relieved  ornament. 

§  xxxvu.  Now,  look  back  to  Fig.  V.,  p.  75.  Clearly,  if  to 
ornament  the  already  hollowed  profile,  b,  we  cut  deep  incisions 
into  it,  we  shall  so  far  weaken  it  at  the  top,  that  it  will  nearly 
lose  all  its  supporting  power.  Clearly,  also,  if  to  ornament 
the  already  bulging  profile  c  we  were  to  leave  projecting  pieces 
of  stone  outside  of  it,  we  should  nearly  destroy  all  its  relation 
to  the  original  sloping  line  X,  and  produce  an  unseemly  and 
ponderous  mass,  hardly  recognizable  as  a  cornice  profile.  It  is 
evident,  on  the  other  hand,  that  we  can  afford  to  cut  into  this 
profile  without  fear  of  destroying  its  strength,  and  that  we  can 
afford  to  leave  projections  outside  of  the  other,  without  fear  of 
destroying  its  lightness.  Such  is,  accordingly,  the  natural  dis- 
position of  the  sculpture,  and  the  two  great  families  of  capitals 
are  therefore  distinguished,  not  merely  by  their  concave  and 
convex  contours,  but  by  the  ornamentation  being  left  outside 
the  bell  of  the  one,  and  cut  into  the  bell  of  the  other ;  so  that, 
in  either  case,  the  ornamental  portions  will  fall  between  the 
dotted  lines  at  e,  Fig.  V.,  and  the  pointed  oval,  or  vesica  piscis, 
which  is  traced  by  them,  may  be  called  the  Limit  of  ornamen- 
tation. 

§  xxxviii  Several  distinctions  in  the  quantity  and  style  of 
the  ornament  must  instantly  follow  from  this  great  distinction 
in  its  position.  First,  in  its  quantity.  For,  observe :  since  in 
the  Doric  profile,  c  of  Fig.  V.,  the  contour  itself  is  to  be  com- 


320 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


posed  of  the  surface  of  the  ornamentation,  this  ornamentation 
must  be  close  and  united  enough  to  form,  or  at  least  suggest,  a 
continuous  surface  ;  it  must,  therefore,  be  rich  in  quantity  and 
close  in  aggregation  ;  otherwise  it  will  destroy  the  massy  char- 
acter of  the  profile  it  adorns,  and  approximate  it  to  its  opposite, 
the  concave.  On  the  other  hand,  the  ornament  left  projecting 
from  the  concave,  must  be  sparing  enough,  and  dispersed 
enough,  to  allow  the  concave  bell  to  be  clearly  seen  beneath  it ; 
otherwise  it  will  choke  up  the  concave  profile,  and  approximate 
it  to  its  opposite,  the  convex. 

§  xxxix.  And,  secondly,  in  its  style.  For,  clearly,  as  the 
sculptor  of  the  concave  profile  must  leave  masses  of  rough 
stone  prepared  for  his  outer  ornament,  and  cannot  finish  them 
at  once,  but  must  complete  the  cutting  of  the  smooth  bell 
beneath  first,  and  then  return  to  the  projecting  masses  (for  if 
he  were  to  finish  these  latter  first,  they  would  assuredly,  ix 
delicate  or  sharp,  be  broken  as  he  worked  on  ;  since,  I  say,  he 
must  work  in  this  foreseeing  and  predetermined  method,  he  is 
sure  to  reduce  the  system  of  his  ornaments  to  some  definite 
symmetrical  order  before  he  begins)  ;  and  the  habit  of  conceiv- 
ing beforehand  all  that  he  has  to  do,  will  probably  render  him 
not  only  more  orderly  in  its  arrangement,  but  more  skilful 
and  accurate  in  its  execution,  than  if  he  could  finish  all  as  he 
worked  on.  On  the  other  hand,  the  sculptor  of  the  convex 
profile  has  its  smooth  surface  laid  before  him,  as  a  piece  of 
paper  on  which  he  can  sketch  at  his  pleasure  ;  the  incisions  he 
makes  hi  it  are  like  touches  of  a  dark  pencil  ;  and  he  is  at 
liberty  to  roam  over  the  surface  in  perfect  freedom,  with  light 
incisions  or  with  deep  ;  finishing  here,  suggesting  there,  or 
perhaps  in  places  leaving  the  surface  altogether  smooth.  It  is 
ten  to  one,  therefore,  but  that,  if  he  yield  to  the  temptation, 
he  becomes  irregular  in  design,  and  rude  in  handling  ;  and  we 
shall  assuredly  find  the  two  families  of  capitals  distinguished, 
the  one  by  its  symmetrical,  thoroughly  organised,  and  exqui- 
sitely executed  ornament,  the  other  by  its  rambling,  confused, 
and  rudely  chiselled  ornament :  But,  on  the.  other  hand,  while 
we  shall  often  have  to  admire  the  disciplined  precision  of  the 
one,  and  as  often  to  regret  the  irregular  rudeness  of  the  other 


Plate  XVIII.  —Capitals.  Convex, 


THE  CORNICE  AND  CAPITAL. 


321 


we  shall  not  fail  to  find  balancing  qualities  in  both.  The 
severity  of  the  disciplinarian  capital  represses  the  power  of  the 
imagination ;  it  gradually  degenerates  into  Formalism  ;  and 
the  indolence  which  cannot  escape  from  its  stern  demand  of 
accurate  workmanship,  seeks  refuge  in  copyism  of  established 
forms,  and  loses  itself  at  last  in  lifeless  mechanism.  The  license 
of  the  other,  though  often  abused,  permits  full  exercise  to  the 
imagination  :  the  mind  of  the  sculptor,  unshackled  by  the 
niceties  of  chiselling,  wanders  over  its  orbed  field  in  endless 
fantasy  ;  and,  when  generous  as  well  as  powerful,  repays  the 
liberty  which  has  been  granted  to  it  with  interest,  by  develop- 
ing through  the  utmost  wildness  and  fulness  of  its  thoughts, 
an  order  as  much  more  noble  than  the  mechanical  symmetry 
of  the  opponent  school,  as  the  domain  which  it  regulates  is 
vaster. 

§  xl.  And  now  the  reader  shall  judge  whether  I  had  not 
reason  to  cast  aside  the  so-called  Five  orders  of  the  Renaissance 
architects,  with  their  volutes  and  fillets,  and  to  tell  him  that 
there  were  only  two  real  orders,  and  that  there  could  never  be 
more.*  For  we  now  find  that  these  two  great  and  real  orders 
are  representative  of  the  two  great  influences  which  must  for 
ever  divide  the  heart  of  man  :  the  one  of  Lawful  Discipline, 
with  its  perfection  and  order,  but  its  danger  of  degeneracy 
into  Formalism  ;  the  other  of  Lawful  Freedom,  with  its  vigor 
and  variety,  but  its  danger  of  degeneracy  into  Licentiousness. 

§  xli.  I  shall  not  attempt  to  give  any  illustrations  here  of 
the  most  elaborate  developments  of  either  order  ;  the}'  will  be 
better  given  on  a  larger  scale  :  but  the  examples  in  Plate 
XVII.  and  XVIII.  represent  the  two  methods  of  ornameut  in 
their  earliest  appliance.     The  two  lower  capitals  in  Plate 

XVII.  are  a  pure  type  of  the  concave  school ;  the  two  in  the 
centre  of  Plate  XVIII,  of  the  convex.    At  the  top  of  Plate 

XVIII.  are  two  Lombardic  capitals  ;  that  on  the  left  from  Sta. 
Sofia  at  Padua,  that  on  the  right  from  the  cortile  of  St.  Am- 
brogio  at  Milan.  They  both  have  the  concave  angle  truncation  ; 
but  being  of  date  prior  to  the  time  when  the  idea  of  the  con- 
cave bell  was  developed,  they  are  otherwise  left  square,  and 

*  Chap.  I. ,  §  xix. 

Vol.  I.— 21 


322  THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 

decorated  with  the  surface  ornament  characteristic  of  the  con- 
vex school.  The  relation  of  the  designs  to  each  other  is  in- 
teresting ;  the  cross  being  prominent  in  the  centre  of  each,  but 
more  richly  relieved  in  that  from  St.  Ambrogio.  The  two 
beneath  are  from  the  southern  portico  of  St.  Mark's  ;  the 
shafts  having  been  of  different  lengths,  and  neither,  in  all 
probability,  originally  intended  for  their  present  place,  they 
have  double  abaci,  of  which  the  uppermost  is  the  cornice  run- 
ning round  the  whole  facade.  The  zigzagged  capital  is  highly 
curious,  and  in  its  place  very  effective  and  beautiful ;  although 
one  of  the  exceptions  which  it  was  above  noticed  that  we 
should  sometimes  find  to  the  law  stated  in  §  xv.  above. 

§  xlii.  The  lower  capital,  which  is  also  of  the  true  convex 
school,  exhibits  one  of  the  conditions  of  the  spurred  type,  e 
of  Fig.  XXII.,  respecting  which  one  or  two  points  must  be 
noticed. 

If  we  were  to  take  up  the  plan  of  the  simple  spur,  repre- 
sented at  e  in  Fig.  XXII.,  p. 
117,  and  treat  it,  with  the  salvia 
leaf,  as  we  did  the  spur  of  the 
base,  we  should  have  for  the 
head  of  our  capital  a  plan  like 
Fig.  LXVI.,  which  is  actually 
that  of  one  of  the  capitals  of  the 
Fondaco  de'  Turchi  at  Venice ; 
with  this  only  difference,  that 
the  intermediate  curves  between 
the  spurs  would  have  been  cir- 
cular :  the  reason  they  are  not  so, 
here,  is  that  the  decoration,  in- 
stead of  being  confined  to  the 
spur,  is  now  spread  over  the  whole  mass,  and  contours  are 
therefore  given  to  the  intermediate  curves  w7hich  fit  them  for 
this  ornament ;  the  inside  shaded  space  being  the  head  of  the 
shaft,  and  the  outer,  the  abacus.  The  reader  has  in  Fig. 
LXVI.  a  characteristic  type  of  the  plans  of  the  spurred  capitals, 
generally  preferred  by  the  sculptors  of  the  convex  school,  but 
treated  with  infinite  variety,  the  spurs  often  being  cut  into 


Fig.  LXVI. 


THE  CORNICE  AND  CAPITAL. 


323 


animal  forms,  or  the  incisions  between  them  multiplied,  for 
richer  effect ;  and  in  our  own  Norman  capital  the  type  c  of 
Fig.  XXII.  is  variously  subdivided  by  incisions  on  its  slope, 
approximating  in  general  effect  to  many  conditions  of  the  real 
spurred  type,  e,  but  totally  differing  from  them  in  principle. 

§  xliii.  The  treatment  of  the  spur  in  the  concave  school  is 
far  more  complicated,  being  borrowed  in  nearly  every  case 
from  the  original  Corinthian.  Its  plan  may  be  generally 
represented  by  Fig.  LXVIL    The  spur  itself  is  carved  into 


Fig.  LXVII.  Fig.  LXVIII. 


a  curling  tendril  or  concave  leaf,  which  supports  the  project- 
ing angle  of  a  four-sided  abacus,  whose  hollow  sides  fall  back 
behind  the  bell,  and  have  generally  a  rosette  or  other  orna- 
ment in  their  centres.  The  mediaeval  architects  often  put 
another  square  abacus  above  all,  as  represented  by  the  shaded 
portion  of  Fig.  LXVIL,  and  some  massy  conditions  of  this 
form,  elaborately  ornamented,  are  very  beautiful ;  but  it  is 
apt  to  become  rigid  and  effeminate,  as  assuredly  it  is  in  the 
original  Corinthian,  which  is  thoroughly  mean  and  meagre  in 
its  upper  tendrils  and  abacus. 

§  xliv.  The  lowest  capital  in  Plate  XVUL  is  from  St. 
Mark's,  and  singular  in  having  double  spurs  ;  it  is  therefore 
to  be  compared  with  the  doubly  spurred  base,  also  from  St. 
Mark's,  in  Plate  XI.  In  other  respects  it  is  a  good  example 
of  the  union  of  breadth  of  mass  with  subtlety  of  curvature, 


324 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


which  characterises  nearly  all  the  spurred  capitals  of  the  con* 
vex  school.  Its  plan  is  given  in  Fig.  LXVIII.  :  the  inner 
shaded  circle  is  the  head  of  the  shaft  ;  the  white  cross,  the 
bottom  of  the  capital,  which  expands  itself  into  the  external 
shaded  portions  at  the  top.  Each  spur,  thus  formed,  is  cut 
like  a  ship's  bow,  with  the  Doric  profile  ;  the  surfaces  so  ob' 
tained  are  then  charged  with  arborescent  ornament. 

§  xlv.  I  shall  not  here  farther  exemplify  the  conditions  of 
the  treatment  of  the  spur,  because  I  am  afraid  of  confusing 
the  reader's  mind,  and  diminishing  the  distinctness  of  his 
conception  of  the  differences  between  the  two  great  orders, 
which  it  has  been  my  principal  object  to  develope  through- 
out this  chapter.  If  all  my  readers  lived  in  London,  I  could 
at  once  fix  this  difference  in  their  minds  by  a  simple,  yet 
somewhat  curious  illustration.  In  many  parts  of  the  west 
end  of  London,  as,  for  instance,  at  the  corners  of  Belgrave 
Square,  and  the  north  side  of  Grosvenor  Square,  the  Corin- 
thian capitals  of  newly-built  houses  are  put  into  cages  of  wire. 
The  wire  cage  is  the  exact  form  of  the  typical  capital  of  the 
convex  school ;  the  Corinthian  capital,  within,  is  a  finished 
and  highly  decorated  example  of  the  concave.  The  space  be- 
tween the  cage  and  capital  is  the  limit  of  ornamentation. 

§  xlvi.  Those  of  my  readers,  however,  to  whom  this  illus- 
tration is  inaccessible,  must  be  content  with  the  two  profiles, 
13  and  14,  on  Plate  XV.  If  they  will  glance  along  the  line 
of  sections  from  1  to  6,  they  will  see  that  the  profile  13  is  their 
final  development,  with  a  superadded  cornice  for  its  abacus. 
It  is  taken  from  a  capital  in  a  very  important  ruin  of  a  palace, 
near  the  Rialto  of  Venice,  and  hereafter  to  be  described  ;  the 
projection,  outside  of  its  principal  curve,  is  the  profile  of  its 
superadded  leaf  ornamentation  ;  it  may  be  taken  as  one  of  the 
simplest,  yet  a  perfect  type  of  the  concave  group. 

§  xlvii.  The  profile  14  is  that  of  the  capital  of  the  main 
shaft  of  the  northern  portico  of  St.  Mark's,  the  most  finished 
example  lever  met  with  of  the  convex  family,  to  which,. in 
spite  of  the  central  inward  bend  of  its  profile,  it  is  marked  as 
distinctly  belonging,  by  the  bold  convex  curve  at  its  root, 
springing  from  the  shaft  in  the  line  of  the  Christian  Doric 


THE  CORNICE  AND  CAPITAL. 


325 


cornice,  and  exactly  reversing  the  structure  of  the  other  pro- 
file, which  rises  from  the  shaft,  like  a  palm  leaf  from  its  stem. 
Farther,  in  the  profile  13,  the  innermost  line  is  that  of  the 
bell  ;  but  in  the  profile  14,  the  outermost  line  is  that  of  the 
bell,  and  the  inner  line  is  the  limit  of  the  incisions  of  the 
chisel,  in  undercutting  a  reticulated  veil  of  ornament,  sur- 
rounding a  flower  like  a  lily  ;  most  ingeniously,  and,  I  hope, 
justly,  conjectured  by  the  Marchese  Selvatico  to  have  been 
intended  for  an  imitation  of  the  capitals  of  the  temple  of 
Solomon,  which  Hiram  made,  with  nets  of  checker  work, 
and  wreaths  of  chain  work  for  the  chapiters  that  were  on  the 
top  of  the  pillars  .  .  .  and  the  chapiters  that  were  upon  the 
top  of  the  pillars  were  of  lily  work  in  the  porch."  (1  Kings, 
vii.  17,  19.) 

§  XLViiL  On  this  exquisite  capital  there  is  imposed  an 
abacus  of  the  profile  with  which  we  began  our  investigation 
long  ago,  the  profile  a  of  Fig.  V.  This  abacus  is  formed  by 
the  cornice  already  given,  a,  of  Plate  XYI.  :  and  therefore  we 
have,  in  this  lovely  Venetian  capital,  the  summary  of  the  re- 
sults of  our  investigation,  from  its  beginning  to  its  close  :  the 
type  of  the  first  cornice  ;  the  decoration  of  it,  in  its  emer- 
gence from  the  classical  models  ;  the  gathering  into  the  capi- 
tal ;  the  superimposition  of  the  secondary  cornice,  and  the 
refinement  of  the  bell  of  the  capital  by  triple  curvature  in  the 
two  limits  of  chiselling.  I  cannot  express  the  exquisite  refine- 
ments of  the  curves  on  the  small  scale  of  Plate  XV.  ;  I  will 
give  them  more  accurately  in  a  larger  engraving  ;  but  the 
scale  on  which  they  are  here  given  will  not  prevent  the  reader 
from  perceiving,  and  let  him  note  it  thoughtfully,  that  the 
outer  curve  of  the  noble  capital  is  the  one  which  was  our  first 
example  of  associated  curves  ;  that  I  have  had  no  need, 
throughout  the  whole  of  our  inquiry,  to  refer  to  any  other 
ornamental  line  than  the  three  which  I  at  first  chose,  the  sim- 
plest of  those  which  Nature  set  by  chance  before  me  ;  and 
that  this  lily,  of  the  delicate  Venetian  marble,  has  but  been 
wrought,  by  the  highest  hum&n  art,  into  the  same  line  which 
the  clouds  disclose,  when  they  break  from  the  rough  rocks  of 
*  the  Hank  of  the  Matterhorn. 


326 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


CHAPTER  XXVHL 

THE  ARCHIVOLT  AND  APERTURE. 

§  i.  If  the  windows  and  doors  of  some  of  our  best  northern 
Gothic  buildings  were  built  up,  and  the  ornament  of  their 
archivolts  concealed,  there  would  often  remain  little  but  masses 
of  dead  wall  and  unsightly  buttress  ;  the  whole  vitality  of  the 
building  consisting  in  the  graceful  proportions  or  rich  mould- 
ings of  its  apertures.  It  is  not  so  in  the  south,  where,  fre- 
quently, the  aperture  is  a  mere  dark  spot  on  the  variegated 
wall ;  but  there  the  column,  with  its  horizontal  or  curved 
architrave,  assumes  an  importance  of  another  kind,  equally 
dependent  upon  the  methods  of  lintel  and  archivolt  decora- 
tion. These,  though  in  their  richness  of  minor  variety  they 
defy  all  exemplification,  may  be  very  broadly 
generalized. 

Of  the  mere  lintel,  indeed,  there  is  no  spe- 
cific decoration,  nor  can  be  ;  it  has  no  organ- 
ism to  direct  its  ornament,  and  therefore  may 
receive  any  kind  and  degree  of  ornament,  ac- 
cording to  its  position.  In  a  Greek  temple, 
PllllllliS  ^  has  meagre  horizontal  lines  ;  in  a  Roman- 
■  |!||ip  esque  church,  it  becomes  a  row  of  upright 

&  ^llyA  niches,  with  an  apostle  in  each  ;  and  may 
become  anything  else  at  the  architect's  will. 
But  the  arch  head  has  a  natural  organism, 
which  separates  its  ornament  into  distinct 
families,  broadly  definable. 

§  ii.  In  speaking  of  the  arch-line  and  arch 
masonry,  we  considered  the  arch  to  be  cut 
straight  through  the  wall ;  so  that,  if  half 
built,  it  would  have  the  appearance  at  «, 
Fig.  LXIX.  But  in  the  chapter  on  Form 
of  Apertures,  we  found  that  the  side  of  the 
arch,  or  jamb  of  the  aperture,  might  often  require  to  be 
bevelled,  so  as  to  give  the  section  6,  Fig.  LXIX.    It  is  easily 


TEE  ARCHIVOLT  AND  APERTURE. 


327 


conceivable  that  when  two  ranges  of  voussoirs  were  used, 
one  over  another,  it  would  be  easier  to  leave  those  beneath, 
of  a  smaller  diameter,  than  to  bevel  them  to  accurate  junc- 
tion with  those  outside.  Whether  influenced  by  this  facility, 
or  by  decorative  instinct,  the  early  northern  builders  often 
substitute  for  the  bevel  the  third  condition,  c,  of  Fig.  LXIX. ; 
so  that,  of  the  three  forms  in  that  figure,  a  belongs  principally 
to  the  south,  c  to  the  north,  and  b  indifferently  to  both. 

§  in.  If  the  arch  in  the  northern  building  be  very  deep,  its 
depth  will  probably  be  attained  by  a  succession  of  steps,  like 
that  in  c  ;  and  the  richest  results  of  northern  archivolt  deco- 
ration are  entirely  based  on  the  aggregation  of  the  ornament 
of  these  several  steps  ;  while  those  of  the  south  are  only  the 
complete  finish  and  perfection  of  the  ornament  of  one.  In 
this  ornament  of  the  single  arch,  the  points  for  general  note 
are  very  few. 

§  iv.  It  was,  in  the  first  instance,  derived  from  the  classical 
architrave,*  and  the  early  Komanesque  arches  are  nothing  but 
such  an  architrave,  bent  round.  The  horizontal  lines  of  the 
latter  become  semicircular,  but  their  importance  and  value  re- 
main exactly  the  same  ;  their  continuity  is  preserved  across  all 
the  voussoirs,  and  the  joints  and  functions  of  the  latter  are 
studiously  concealed.  As  the  builders  get  accustomed  to  the 
arch,  and  love  it  better,  they  cease  to  be  ashamed  of  its  struct- 
ure :  the  voussoirs  begin  to  show  themselves  confidently,  and 
fight  for  precedence  with  the  architrave  lines  ;  and  there  is  an 
entanglement  of  the  two  structures,  in  consequence,  like  the  cir- 
cular and  radiating  lines  of  a  cobweb,  until  at  last  the  architrave 
lines  get  worsted,  and  driven  away  outside  of  the  voussoirs  ;  be- 
ing permitted  to  stay  at  all  only  on  condition  of  their  dressing 
themselves  in  mediaeval  costume,  as  in  the  plate  opposite. 

§  v.  In  other  cases,  however,  before  the  entire  discomfiture 
of  the  architrave,  a  treaty  of  peace  is  signed  between  the  ad- 
verse parties  on  these  terms  :  That  the  architrave  shall  en- 

*  The  architrave  is  properly  the  horizontal  piece  of  stone  laid  across 
the  tops  of  the  pillars  in  Greek  buildings,  and  commonly  marked  with 
horizontal  lines,  obtained  by  slight  projections  of  its  surface,  while  it  is 
protected  above  in  the  richer  orders,  by  a  small  cornice. 


328 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


tirely  dismiss  its  inner  three  meagre  lines,  and  leave  the  space 
of  them  to  the  vonssoirs,  to  display  themselves  after  their 
manner  ;  but  that,  in  return  for  this  concession,  the  architrave 
shall  have  leave  to  expand  the  small  cornice  which  usually 
terminates  it  (the  reader  had  better  look  at  the  original  form 
in  that  of  the  Erechtheum,  in  the  middle  of  the  Elgin  room 
of  the  British  Museum)  into  bolder  prominence,  and  even  to 
put  brackets  under  it,  as  if  it  were  a  roof  cornice,  and  thus 
mark  with  a  bold  shadow  the  terminal  line  of  the  voussoirs. 
This  condition  is  seen  in  the  arch  from  St.  Pietro  of  Pistoja, 
Plate  XIII,  above. 

§  vi.  If  the  Gothic  spirit  of  the  building  be  thoroughly  de- 
termined, and  victorious,  the  architrave  cornice  is  compelled 
to  relinquish  its  classical  form,  and  take  the  profile  of  a  Gothic 
cornice  or  dripstone  ;  while,  in  other  cases,  as  in  much  of  the 
Gothic  of  Verona,  it  is  forced  to  disappear  altogether.  But 
the  voussoirs  then  concede,  on  the  other  hand,  so  much  of 
their  dignity  as  to  receive  a  running  ornament  of  foliage  or 
animals,  like  a  classical  frieze,  and  continuous  round  the  arch. 
In  fact,  the  contest  between  the  adversaries  may  be  seen  run- 
ning through  all  the  early  architecture  of  Italy :  success  in- 
clining sometimes  to  the  one,  sometimes  to  the  other,  and 
various  kinds  of  truce  or  reconciliation  being  effected  between 
them  :  sometimes  merely  formal,  sometimes  honest  and  affec- 
tionate, but  with  no  regular  succession  in  time.  The  greatest 
victory  of  the  voussoir  is  to  annihilate  the  cornice,  and  receive 
an  ornament  of  its  own  outline,  and  entirely  limited  by  its  own 
joints :  and  yet  this  may  be  seen  in  the  very  early  apse  of  Murano- 

§  vn.  The  most  usual  condition,  however,  is  that  unity  of 
the  two  members  above  described,  §  v.,  and  which  may  be 
generally  represented  by  the  archivolt  section  a,  Fig.  LXX.  ; 
and  from  this  descend  a  family  of  Gothic  archivolts  of  the 
highest  importance.  For  the  cornice,  thus  attached  to  the 
arch,  suffers  exactly  the  same  changes  as  the  level  cornice,  or 
capital  ;  receives,  in  due  time,  its  elaborate  ogee  profile  and 
leaf  ornaments,  like  Fig.  8  or  9  of  Plate  XV.  ;  and,  when  the 
shaft  loses  its  shape,  and  is  lost  in  the  later  Gothic  jamb,  the 
archivolt  has  influence  enough  to  introduce  this  ogee  profile 


THE  ARC  HI  VOLT  AXD  APERTURE.  32$ 

in  the  jamb  also,  through  the  banded  impost :  and  we  im- 
mediately find  ourselves  involved  in  deep  successions  of  ogee 
mouldings  in  sides  of  doors  and  windows,  which  never  would 
have  been  thought  of,  but  for  the  obstinate  resistance  of  the 
classical  architrave  to  the  attempts  of  the  voussoir  at  its  degra- 
dation or  banishment. 

§  vni.  This,  then,  will  be  the  first  great  head  under  which 
we  shall  in  future  find  it  convenient  to  arrange  a  large  num- 
ber of  archivolt  decorations.  It  is  the  distinctively  Southern 
and  Byzantine  form,  and  typically  represented  by  the  section 
a,  of  Fig.  LXX.  ;  and  it  is  susceptible  of  almost  every  species 
of  surface  ornament,  respecting  which  only 
this  general  law  may  be  asserted  :  that, 
while  the  outside  or  vertical  surface  may 
properly  be  decorated,  and  yet  the  soffit  or 
under  surface  left  plain,  the  soffit  is  never 
to  be  decorated,  and  the  outer  surface  left 
plain.  Much  beautiful  sculpture  is,  in  the 
best  Byzantine  buildings,  half  lost  by  be- 
ing put  under  soffits  ;  but  the  eye  is  led 
to  discover  it,  and  even  to  demand  it,  by 
the  rich  chasing  of  the  outsido  of  the  vous- 
soirs.  It  would  have  been  an  hypocrisy  to 
carve  them  externally  only.  But  there 
is  not  the  smallest  excuse  for  carving  the  soffit,  and  not  the 
outside  ;  for,  in  that  case,  we  approach  the  building  under  the 
idea  of  its  being  perfectly  plain  ;  we  do  not  look  for  the  soffit 
decoration,  and,  of  course,  do  not  see  it :  or,  if  we  do,  it  is 
merely  to  regret  that  it  should  not  be  in  a  better  place.  In 
the  Renaissance  architects,  it  may,  perhaps,  for  once,  be  con- 
sidered a  merit,  that  they  put  their  bad  decorations  systemat- 
ically in  the  places  where  we  should  least  expect  it,  and  can 
seldornest  see  it  : — Approaching  the  Scuola  di  San  Rocco,  you 
probably  will  regret  the  extreme  plainness  and  barrenness  of 
the  window  traceries  ;  but,  if  you  will  go  very  close  to  the 
wall  beneath  the  windows,  you  maj^,  on  sunny  days,  discover 
a  quantity  of  panel  decorations  which  the  ingenious  architect 
has  concealed  under  the  soffits. 


Fig.  LXX. 


33o 


THE  STORES  OF  VENICE. 


The  custom  of  decorating  the  arch  soffit  with  panelling  is  n 
Roman  application  of  the  Greek  roof  ornament,  which,  what- 
ever its  intrinsic  merit  (compare  Chap.  XXIX.  §  iv.),  may 
rationally  be  applied  to  waggon  vaults,  as  of  St,  Peter's,  and 
to  arch  soffits  under  which  one  walks.  But  the  Renaissance 
architects  had  not  wit  enough  to  reflect  that  people  usually 
do  not  walk  through  windows. 

§  ix.  So  far,  then,  of  the  Southern  archivolt :  In  Fig. 
LXIX.,  above,  it  will  be  remembered  that  c  represents  the 
simplest  form  of  the  Northern.  In  the  farther  development 
of  this,  which  we  have  next  to  consider,  the  voussoirs,  in  con- 
sequence of  their  own  negligence  or  over-confidence,  sustain  a 
total  and  irrecoverable  defeat.  That  archivolt  is  in  its  earliest 
conditions  perfectly  pure  and  undecorated, — the  simplest  and 
rudest  of  Gothic  forms.  Necessarily,  when  it  falls  on  the 
pier,  and  meets  that  of  the  opposite  arch,  the  entire  section 
of  masonry  is  in  the  shape  of  a  cross,  and  is  carried  by  the 
crosslet  shaft,  which  we  above  stated  to  be  distinctive  of 
Northern  design.  I  am  more  at  a  loss  to  account  for  the  sud- 
den and  fixed  development  of  this  type  of  archivolt  than  for 
any  other  architectural  transition  with  which  I  am  acquainted. 
But  there  it  is,  pure  and  firmly  established,  as  early  as  the 
building  of  St.  Michele  of  Pavia ;  and  we  have  thenceforward 
only  to  observe  what  comes  of  it. 

§  x.  We  find  it  first,  as  I  said,  perfectly  barren ;  cornice 
and  architrave  altogether  ignored,  the  existence  of  such  things 
practically  denied,  and  a  plain,  deep-cut  recess  with  a  single 
mighty  shadow  occupying  their  place.  The  voussoirs,  think- 
ing their  great  adversary  utterly  defeated,  are  at  no  trouble 
to  show  themselves  ;  visible  enough  in  both  the  upper  and 
under  archivolts,  they  are  content  to  wait  the  time  when,  as 
might  have  been  hoped,  they  should  receive  a  new  decoration 
peculiar  to  themselves. 

§  xi.  In  this  state  of  paralysis,  or  expectation,  their  flank  is 
turned  by  an  insidious  chamfer.  The  edges  of  the  two  great 
blank  archivolts  are  felt  to  be  painfully  conspicuous  ;  all  the 
four  are  at  once  beaded  or  chamfered,  as  at  b,  Fig.  LXX.  ;  a 
rich  group  of  deep  lines,  running  concentrically  with  the  arch, 


THE  ARCHIVOLT  AND  APERTURE. 


331 


is  the  result  on  the  instant,  and  the  fate  of  the  voussoirs  ia 
sealed.  They  surrender  at  once  without  a  struggle,  and  un- 
conditionally ;  the  chamfers  deepen  and  multiply  themselves, 
cover  the  soffit,  ally  themselves  with  other  forms  resulting  from 
grouped  shafts  or  traceries,  and  settle  into  the  inextricable 
richness  of  the  fully  developed  Gothic  jamb  and  arch  ;  farther 
complicated  in  the  end  by  the  addition  of  niches  to  their  re- 
cesses, as  above  described. 

§  xn.  The  voussoirs,  in  despair,  go  over  to  the  classical 
camp,  in  hope  of  receiving  some  help  or  tolerance  from  their 
former  enemies.  They  receive  it  indeed  :  but  as  traitors 
should,  to  their  own  eternal  dishonor.  They  are  sharply 
chiselled  at  the  joints,  or  rusticated,  or  cut  into  masks  and 
satyrs'  heads,  and  so  set  forth  and  pilloried  in  the  various  de- 
testable forms  of  which  the  simplest  is  given  above  in  Plate 
XIII.  (on  the  left)  :  and  others  may  be  seen  in  nearly  every 
large  building  in  London,  more  especially  in  the  bridges  ;  and, 
as  if  in  pure  spite  at  the  treatment  they  had  received  from 
the  archivolt,  they  are  now  not  content  with  vigorously  show- 
ing their  lateral  joints,  but  shape  themselves  into  right-angled 
steps  at  their  heads,  cutting  to  pieces  their  limiting  line, 
which  otherwise  would  have  had  sympathy  with  that  of  the 
arch,  and  fitting  themselves  to  their  new  friend,  the  Renais- 
sance Ruled  Copy-book  wTall.  It  had  been  better  they  had 
died  ten  times  over,  in  their  own  ancient  cause,  than  thus  pro- 
longed their  existence. 

§  xni.  We  bid  them  farewell  in  their  dishonor,  to  return 
to  our  victorious  chamfer.  It  had  not,  we  said,  obtained  so 
easy  a  conquest,  unless  by  the  help  of  certain  forms  of  the 
grouped  shaft.  The  chamfer  was  quite  enough  to  decorate 
the  archivolts,  if  there  were  no  more  than  two  ;  but  if,  as 
above  noticed  in  §  in.,  the  archivolt  was  very  deep,  and  com- 
posed of  a  succession  of  such  steps,  the  multitude  of  chamfer- 
ings  were  felt  to  be  weak  and  insipid,  and  instead  of  dealing 
with  the  outside  edges  of  the  archivolts,  the  group  was  soft- 
ened by  introducing  solid  shafts  in  their  dark  inner  angles. 
This,  the  manliest  and  best  condition  of  the  early  northern 
jamb  and  archivolt,  is  represented  in  section  at  fig.  12  of  Plate 


332 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


II. ;  and  its  simplest  aspect  in  Plate  V.,  from  the  Broletto  ol 
Como, — an  interesting  example,  because  there  the  voussoirs 
being  in  the  midst  of  their  above-described  southern  contest 
with  the  architrave,  were  better  prepared  for  the  flank  at- 
tack upon  them  by  the  shaft  and  chamfer,  and  make  a  noble 
resistance,  with  the  help  of  color,  in  which  even  the  shaft  itself 
gets  slightly  worsted,  and  cut  across  in  several  places,  like 
General  Zach's  column  at  Marengo. 

§  xiv.  The  shaft,  however,  rapidly  rallies,  and  brings  up  its 
own  peculiar  decorations  to  its  aid  ;  and  the  intermediate 
archivolts  receive  running  or  panelled  ornaments,  also,  until  we 
reach  the  exquisitely  rich  conditions  of  our  own  Norman  archi- 
volts, and  of  the  parallel  Lombardic  designs,  such  as  the  en- 
trance of  the  Duomo,  and  of  San  Fermo,  at  Verona.  This 
change,  however,  occupies  little  time,  and  takes  place  princi- 
pally in  doorways,  owing  to  the  greater  thickness  of  wall, 
and  depth  of  archivolt ;  so  that  we  find  the  rich  shafted  suc- 
cession of  ornament,  in  the  doorway  and  window  aperture, 
associated  with,  the  earliest  and  rudest  double  archivolt,  in 
the  nave  arches,  at  St.  Michele  of  Pavia.  The  nave  arches, 
therefore,  are  most  usually  treated  by  the  chamfer,  and  the 
voussoirs  are  there  defeated  much  sooner  than  by  the  shafted 
arrangements,  which  they  resist,  as  we  saw,  in  the  south  by 
color ;  and  even  in  the  north,  though  forced  out  of  their  own 
shape,  they  take  that  of  birds'  or  monsters'  heads,  which  for 
some  time  peck  and  pinch  the  rolls  of  the  archivolt  to  their 
hearts'  content;  while  the  Norman  zigzag  ornament  allies  itself 
writh  them,  each  zigzag  often  restraining  itself  amicably  be- 
tween the  joints  of  each  voussoir  in  the  ruder  work,  and  even  in 
the  highly  finished  arches,  distinctly  presenting  a  concentric 
or  sunlike  arrangement  of  lines  ;  so  much  so,  as  to  prompt  the 
conjecture,  above  stated,  Chap.  XX.  §  xxvi.,  that  all  such 
ornaments  were  intended  to  be  typical  of  light  issuing  from 
the  orb  of  the  arch.  I  doubt  the  intention,  but  acknowledge 
the  resemblance  ;  which  perhaps  goes  far  to  account  for  the 
never-failing  delightfulness  of  this  zigzag  decoration.  The 
diminution  of  the  zigzag,  as  it  gradually  shares  the  defeat  of 
the  voussoir,  and  is  at  last  overwhelmed  by  the  complicated, 


THE  ARC  HI  VOL  T  AND  APERTURE. 


railroad-like  fluency  of  the  later  Gothic  mouldings,  is  to  me 
one  of  the  saddest  sights  in  the  drama  of  architecture. 

§  xv.  One  farther  circumstance  is  deserving  of  especial 
note  in  Plate  V.,  the  greater  depth  of  the  voussoirs  at  the  top 
of  the  arch.  This  has  been  above  alluded  to  as  a  feature  of 
good  construction,  Chap.  XI.,  §  in.  ;  it  is  to  be  noted  now  as 
one  still  more  valuable  in  decoration  :  for  when  we  arrive 
at  the  deep  succession  of  concentric  archivolts,  with  which 
northern  portals,  and  many  of  the  associated  windows,  are 
headed,  we  immediately  find  a  difficulty  in  reconciling  the 
outer  curve  with  the  inner.  If,  as  is  sometimes  the  case,  the 
width  of  the  group  of  archivolts  be  twice  or  three  times  that 
of  the  inner  aperture,  the  inner  arch  may  be  distinctly 
pointed,  and  the  outer  one,  if  drawn  with  concentric  arcs,  ap- 
proximate very  nearly  to  a  round  arch.  This  is  actually  the 
case  in  the  later  Gothic  of  Verona  ;  the  outer  line  of  the 
archivolt  having  a  hardly  perceptible  point,  and  every  inner 
arch  of  course  forming  the  point  more  distinctly,  till  the  in- 
nermost becomes  a  lancet.  By  far  the  nobler  method,  how- 
ever, is  that  of  the  pure  early  Italian  Gothic  ;  to  make  every 
outer  arch  a  magnified  facsimile  of  the  innermost  one,  every 
arc  including  the  same  number  of  degrees,  but  degrees  of  a 
larger  circle.  The  result  is  the  condition  represented  in 
Plate  V.,  often  found  in  far  bolder  development  ;  exquisitely 
springy  and  elastic  in  its  expression,  and  entirely  free  from 
the  heaviness  and  monotony  of  the  deep  northern  archivolts. 

§  xvi.  We  have  not  spoken  of  the  intermediate  form,  b,  of 
Fig.  LXIX.  (which  its  convenience  for  admission  of  light  has 
rendered  common  in  nearly  all  architectures),  because  it  has 
no  transitions  peculiar  to  itself  :  in  the  north  it  sometimes 
shares  the  fate  of  the  outer  architrave,  and  is  channelled  into 
longitudinal  mouldings ;  sometimes  remains  smooth  and  massy, 
as  in  military  architecture,  or  in  the  simpler  forms  of  domestic 
and  ecclesiastical.  In  Italy  it  receives  surface  decoration  like 
the  architrave,  but  has,  perhaps,  something  of  peculiar  expres- 
sion in  being  placed  between  the  tracery  of  the  window  within, 
and  its  shafts  and  tabernacle  work  without,  as  in  the  Duomo 
of  Florence  :  in  this  position  it  is  always  kept  smooth  in  sur« 


334 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


face,  and  inlaid  (or  painted)  with  delicate  arabesques  ;  whila 
the  tracery  and  the  tabernacle  work  are  richly  sculptured. 
The  example  of  its  treatment  by  colored  voussoirs,  given  in 
Plate  XIX.,  may  be  useful  to  the  reader  as  a  kind  of  central 
expression  of  the  aperture  decoration  of  the  pure  Italian 
Gothic  ; — aperture  decoration  proper  ;  applying  no  shaft  work 
to  the  jambs,  but  leaving  the  bevelled  opening  unenriched  ; 
using  on  the  outer  archivolt  the  voussoirs  and  concentric 
architrave  in  reconcilement  (the  latter  having,  however,  some 
connection  with  the  Norman  zigzag)  ;  and  beneath  them,  the 
pure  Italian  two-pieced  and  mid-cusped  arch,  with  rich  cusp 
decoration.  It  is  a  Veronese  arch,  probably  of  the  thirteenth 
century,  and  finished  with  extreme  care  ;  the  red  portions  are 
all  in  brick,  delicately  cast :  and  the  most  remarkable  feature 
of  the  whole  is  the  small  piece  of  brick  inlaid  on  the  angle  of 
each  stone  voussoir,  with  a  most  just  feeling,  which  every 
artist  will  at  once  understand,  that  the  color  ought  not  to  be 
let  go  all  at  once. 

§  xvn.  We  have  traced  the  various  conditions  of  treatment 
in  the  archivolt  alone  ;  but,  except  in  what  has  been  said  of 
the  peculiar  expression  of  the  voussoirs,  we  might  throughout 
have  spoken  in  the  same  terms  of  the  jamb.  Even  a  parallel 
to  the  expression  of  the  voussoir  may  be  found  in  the  Lom- 
bardic  and  Norman  divisions  of  the  shafts,  by  zigzags  and 
other  transverse  ornamentation,  which  in  the  end  are  all  swept 
away  by  the  canaliculated  mouldings.  Then,  in  the  recesses 
of  these  and  of  the  archivolts  alike,  the  niche  and  statue  deco- 
ration develops  itself  ;  and  the  vaulted  and  cavernous  apertures 
are  covered  with  incrustations  of  fretwork,  and  with  every 
various  application  of  foliage  to  their  fantastic  mouldings. 

§  xviii,  I  have  kept  the  inquiry  into  the  proper  ornament 
of  the  archivolt  wholly  free  from  all  confusion  with  the  ques- 
tions of  beauty  in  tracery ;  for,  in  fact,  all  tracery  is  a  mere 
multiplication  and  entanglement  of  small  archivolts,  and  its 
cusp  ornament  is  a  minor  condition  of  that  proper  to  the  span- 
dril.  It  does  not  reach  its  completely  denned  form  until  the 
jamb  and  archivolt  have  been  divided  into  longitudinal  mould- 
ings ;  and  then  the  tracery  is  formed  by  the  innermost  group 


THE  ROOF. 


335 


of  the  shafts  or  fillets,  bent  into  whatever  forms  or  foliations 
the  designer  may  choose  ;  but  this  with  a  delicacy  of  adapta- 
tion which  I  rather  choose  to  illustrate  by  particular  examples, 
of  which  we  shall  meet  with  many  in  the  course  of  our  inquiry, 
than  to  delay  the  reader  by  specifying  here.  As  for  the  con- 
ditions of  beauty  in  the  disposition  of  the  tracery  bars,  I  see 
no  hope  of  dealing  with  the  subject  fairly  but  by  devoting,  if 
I  can  find  time,  a  separate  essay  to  it — which,  in  itself,  need 
not  be  Jong,  but  would  involve,  before  it  could  be  completed, 
the  examination  of  the  whole  mass  of  materials  lately  collected 
by  the  indefatigable  industry  of  the  English  architects  who 
have  devoted  their  special  attention  to  this  subject,  and  which 
are  of  the  highest  value  as  illustrating  the  chronological  suc- 
cession or  mechanical  structure  of  tracery,  but  which,  in  most 
cases,  touch  on  their  aesthetic  merits  incidentally  only.  Of 
works  of  this  kind,  by  far  the  best  I  have  met  with  is  Mr. 
Edmund  Sharpe's,  on  Decorated  Windows,  which  seems  to 
me,  as  far  as  a  cursory  glance  can  enable  me  to  judge,  to  ex- 
haust the  subject  as  respects  English  Gothic  ;  and  which  may 
be  recommended  to  the  readers  who  are  interested  of  the 
subject,  as  containing  a  clear  and  masterly  enunciation  of  the 
general  principles  by  which  the  design  of  tracery  has  been 
regulated,  from  its  first  development  to  its  final  degradation. 


CHAPTEE  XXIX. 

THE  ROOF. 

§  i.  The  modes  of  decoration  hitherto  considered,  have 
been  common  to  the  exteriors  and  interiors  of  all  noble  build- 
ings ;  and  we  have  taken  no  notice  of  the  various  kinds  of 
ornament  which  require  protection  from  weather,  and  are 
necessarily  confined  to  interior  work.  But  in  the  case  of  the 
roof,  the  exterior  and  interior  treatments  become,  as  we  saw 
in  construction,  so  also  in  decoration,  separated  by  broad  and 
bold  distinctions.  One  side  of  a  wall  is,  in  most  cases,  the 
same  as  another,  and  if  its  structure  be  concealed,  it  is  mostly 


33G 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


on  the  inside  ;  but,  in  the  roof,  the  anatomical  structure,  out 
of  which  decoration  should  naturally  spring,  is  visible,  if  at 
all,  in  the  interior  only  :  so  that  the  subject  of  internal  orna^ 
ment  becomes  both  wide  and  important,  and  that  oi  external, 
comparatively  subordinate. 

§  ii.  Now,  so  long  as  we  were  concerned  23rincipally  with 
the  outside  of  buildings,  we  might  with  safety  leave  expres- 
sional  character  out  of  the  question  for  the  time,  because  it  is 
not  to  be  expected  that  all  persons  who  pass  the  building,  or 
see  it  from  a  distance,  shall  be  in  the  temper  wrhich  the  build- 
ing is  properly  intended  to  induce  ;  so  that  ornaments  some- 
what  at  variance  with  this  temper  may  often  be  employed 
externally  without  painful  effect.  But  these  ornaments  would 
be  inadmissible  in  the  interior,  for  those  who  enter  will  for  the 
most  part  either  be  in  the  proper  temper  which  the  building 
requires,  or  desirous  of  acquiring  it.  (The  distinction  is  not 
rigidly  observed  by  the  mediaeval  builders,  and  grotesques,  or 
profane  subjects,  occur  in  the  interior  of  churches,  in  bosses, 
crockets,  capitals,  brackets,  and  such  other  portions  of  minor 
ornament :  but  we  do  not  find  the  interior  wall  covered  with 
hunting  and  battle  pieces,  as  often  the  Lombardic  exteriors.) 
And  thus  the  interior  expression  of  the  roof  or  ceiling  becomes 
necessarily  so  various,  and  the  kind  and  degree  of  fitting  dec- 
oration so  dependent  upon  particular  circumstances,  that  it  is 
nearly  impossible  to  classify  its  methods,  or  limit  its  applica- 
tion. 

§  in.  I  have  little,  therefore,  to  say  here,  and  that  touching 
rather  the  omission  than  the  selection  of  decoration,  as  far  as 
regards  interior  roofing.  Whether  of  timber  or  stone,  roofs 
are  necessarily  divided  into  surfaces,  and  ribs  or  beams 
surfaces,  flat  or  carved  ;  ribs,  traversing  these  in  the  direc- 
tions where  main  strength  is  required  ;  or  beams,  filling  the 
hollow  of  the  dark  gable  with  the  intricate  roof-tree,  or  sup- 
porting the  flat  ceiling.  Wherever  the  ribs  and  beams  are 
simply  and  unaffectedly  arranged,  there  is  no  difficulty  about 
decoration  ;  the  beams  may  be  carved,  the  ribs  moulded,  and 
the  eye  is  satisfied  at  once  ;  but  when  the  vaulting  is  unribbed 
m  in  plain  waggon  vaults  and  much  excellent  early  Gothic/oX 


THE  ROOF. 


337 


when  the  ceiling  is  flat,  it  becomes  a  difficult  question  how 
far  their  services  may  receive  ornamentation  independent  of 
their  structure.  I  have  never  myself  seen  a  flat  ceiling  satis- 
factorily decorated,  except  by  painting  :  there  is  much  good 
and  fanciful  panelling  in  old  English  domestic  architecture, 
but  it  always  is  in  some  degree  meaningless  and  mean.  The 
flat  ceilings  of  Venice,  as  in  the  Scuola  di  San  Rocco  and 
Ducal  Palace,  have  in  their  vast  panellings  some  of  the  noblest 
paintings  (on  stretched  canvas)  which  the  world  possesses  : 
and  this  is  all  veiy  well  for  the  ceiling  ;  but  one  would  rather 
have  the  painting  in  a  better  place,  especially  when  the  rain 
soaks  through  its  canvas,  as  I  have  seen  it  doing  through 
many  a  noble  Tintoret.  On  the  whole,  flat  ceilings  are  as 
much  to  be  avoided  as  possible  ;  and,  when  necessary,  per- 
haps a  panelled  ornamentation  with  rich  colored  patterns  is 
the  most  satisfying,  and  loses  least  of  valuable  labor.  But  I 
leave  the  question  to  the  reader's  thought,  being  myself  ex- 
ceedingly undecided  respecting  it  :  except  only  touching  one 
point— that  a  blank  ceiling  is  not  to  be  redeemed  by  a  deco- 
rated ventilator. 

§  iv.  I  have  a  more  confirmed  opinion,  however,  respecting 
the  decoration  of  curved  surfaces.  The  majesty  of  a  roof  is 
never,  I  think,  so  great,  as  when  the  eye  can  pass  undisturbed 
over  the  course  of  all  its  curvatures,  and  trace  the  dying  of  the 
shadows  along  its  smooth  and  sweeping  vaults.  And  I  would 
rather,  myself,  have  a  plain  ridged  Gothic  vault,  with  all  its 
rough  stones  visible,  to  keep  the  sleet  and  wind  out  of  a  cathe- 
dral aisle,  than  all  the  fanning  and  pendantmg  and  foliation 
that  ever  bewildered  Tudor  wight.  But  mosaic  or  fresco 
may  of  course  be  used  as  far  as  we  can  afford  or  obtain  them  ; 
for  these  do  not  break  the  curvature.  Perhaps  the  most 
solemn  roofs  in  the  world  are  the  apse  conchas  of  the  Roman- 
esque  basilicas,  with  their  golden  ground  and  severe  figures. 
Exactly  opposed  to  these  are  the  decorations  which  disturb  the 
serenity  of  the  curve  without  giving  it  interest,  like  the  vulgar 
panelling  of  St.  Peter's  and  the  Pantheon  ;  both,  I  think,  in 
the  last  degree  detestable. 

§  v.  As  roofs  internally  may  be  divided  into  surfaces  and 


338 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


ribs,  externally  they  may  be  divided  into  surfaces,  and  pointy 
or  ridges  ;  these  latter  often  receiving  very  bold  and  distinc- 
tive ornament.  The  outside  surface  is  of  small  importance  in 
central  Europe,  being  almost  universally  low  in  slope,  and 
tiled  throughout  Spain,  South  France,  and  North  Italy  :  of 
still  less  importance  where  it  is  flat,  as  a  terrace  ;  as  often  in 
South  Italy  and  the  East,  mingled  with  low  domes :  but  the 
larger  Eastern  and  Arabian  domes  become  elaborate  in  orna- 
mentation :  I  cannot  speak  of  them  with  confidence  ;  to  the 
mind  of  an  inhabitant  of  the  north,  a  roof  is  a  guard  against 
wild  weather  ;  not  a  surface  which  is  forever  to  bask  in  serene 
heat,  and  gleam  across  deserts  like  a  rising  moon.  I  can  only 
say,  that  I  have  never  seen  any  drawing  of  a  richly  decorated 
Eastern  dome  that  made  me  desire  to  see  the  original. 

§  vi.  Our  own  northern  roof  decoration  is  necessarily  sim- 
ple. Colored  tiles  are  used  in  some  cases  with  quaint  effect ; 
but  I  believe  the  dignity  of  the  building  is  always  greater 
when  the  roof  is  kept  in  an  undisturbed  mass,  opposing  itself 
to  the  variegation  and  richness  of  the  walls.  The  Italian 
round  tile  is  itself  decoration  enough,  a  deep  and  rich  fluting, 
which  all  artists  delight  in  ;  this,  however,  is  fitted  exclusively 
for  low  pitch  of  roofs.  On  steep  domestic  roofs,  there  is  no 
ornament  better  than  may  be  obtained  by  merely  rounding, 
or  cutting  to  an  angle,  the  lower  extremities  of  the  flat  tiles 
or  shingles,  as  in  Switzerland  :  thus  the  whole  surface  is 
covered  with  an  appearance  of  scales,  a  fish-like  defence 
against  water,  at  once  perfectly  simple,  natural,  and  effective 
at  any  distance  ;  and  the  best  decoration  of  sloping  stone 
roofs,  as  of  spires,  is  a  mere  copy  of  this  scale  armor  ;  it  en- 
riches every  one  of  the  spires  and  pinnacles  of  the  cathedral 
of  Coutances,  and  of  many  Norman  and  early  Gothic  build- 
ings. Eoofs  covered  or  edged  with  lead  have  often  patterns 
designed  upon  the  lead,  gilded  and  relieved  with  some  dark 
color,  as  on  the  house  of  Jaques  Coeur  at  Bourges ;  and  I 
imagine  the  effect  of  this  must  have  been  singularly  delicate 
and  beautiful,  but  only  traces  of  it  now  remain.  The  north- 
ern roofs,  however,  generally  stand  in  little  need  of  surface 
decoration,  the  eye  being  drawn  to  the  fantastic  ranges  of 


THE  ROOF. 


339 


their  dormer  windows,  and  to  the  finials  and  fringes  on  their 
points  and  ridges. 

§  vii.  Whether  dormer  windows  are  legitimately  to  be 
classed  as  decorative  features,  seems  to  me  to  admit  of  doubt 
The  northern  spire  system  is  evidently  a  mere  elevation  and 
exaggeration  of  the  domestic  turret  with  its  look-out  windows, 
and  one  can  hardly  part  with  the  grotesque  lines  of  the  projec- 
tions, though  nobody  is  to  be  expected  to  live  in  the  spire : 
but,  at  all  events,  such  windows  are  never  to  be  allowed  in 
places  visibly  inaccessible,  or  on  less  than  a  natural  and  ser- 
viceable scale. 

§  vhl  Under  the  general  head  of  roof-ridge  and  point 
decoration,  we  may  include,  as  above  noted,  the  entire  race 
of  fringes,  finials,  and  crockets.  As  there  is  no  use  in  any  of 
these  things,  and  as  they  are  visible  additions  and  parasitical 
portions  of  the  structure,  more  caution  is  required  in  their  use 
than  in  any  other  features  of  ornament,  and  the  architect  and 
spectator  must  both  be  in  felicitous  humor  before  they  can  be 
well  designed  or  thoroughly  enjoyed.  They  are  generally 
most  admirable  where  the  grotesque  Northern  spiri fc  has  most 
power  ;  and  I  think  there  is  almost  always  a  certain  spirit  of 
playfulness  in  them,  adverse  to  the  grandest  architectural 
effects,  or  at  least  to  be  kept  in  severe  subordination  to  the 
serener  character  of  the  prevalent  lines.  But  as  they  are  op- 
posed to  the  seriousness  of  majesty  on  the  one  hand,  so  they 
are  to  the  weight  of  dulness  on  the  other  ;  and  I  know  not  any 
features  which  make  the  contrast  between  continental  domestic 
architecture,  and  our  own,  more  humiliatingly  felt,  or  which 
give  so  sudden  a  feeling  of  new  life  and  delight,  when  we  pass 
from  the  streets  of  London  to  those  of  Abbeville  or  Eouen,  as 
the  quaint  points  and  pinnacles  of  the  roof  gables  and  turrets. 
The  commonest  and  heaviest  roof  may  be  redeemed  by  a  spike 
at  the  end  of  it,  if  it  is  set  on  with  any  spirit ;  but  the  foreign 
builders  have  (or  had,  at  least)  a  peculiar  feeling  in  this,  and 
gave  animation  to  the  whole  roof  by  the  fringe  of  its  back> 
and  the  spike  on  its  forehead,  so  that  all  goes  together,  like 
the  dorsal  fins  and  spines  of  a  fish  ;  but  our  spikes  have  a  dull, 
screwed  on,  look  ;  a  far-off  relationship  to  the  nuts  of  machin* 


340 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


ery  ;  and  our  roof  fringes  are  sure  to  look  like  fenders,  as  it 
they  were  meant  to  catch  ashes  out  of  the  London  smoke- 
clouds. 

§  ix.  Stone  finials  and  crockets  are,  I  think,  to  be  considered 
in  architecture,  what  points  and  flashes  of  light  are  in  the 
color  of  painting,  or  of  nature.  There  are  some  landscapes 
whose  best  character  is  sparkling,  and  there  is  a  possibility  of 
repose  in  the  midst  of  brilliancy,  or  embracing  it, — as  on  the 
fields  of  summer  sea,  or  summer  land  : 

"Calm,  and  deep  peace,  on  this  high  wold, 
And  on  the  dews  that  drench  the  furze, 
And  on  the  silvery  gossamers, 
That  twinkle  into  green  and  gold  " 

And  there  are  colorisfcs  who  can  keep  their  quiet  in  the  midst 
of  a  jewellery  of  light ;  but,  for  the  most  part,  it  is  better  to 
avoid  breaking  up  either  lines  or  masses  by  too  many  points, 
and  to  make  the  few  points  used  exceedingly  precious.  So 
the  best  crockets  and  finials  are  set,  like  stars,  along  the  lines, 
and  at  the  points,  which  they  adorn,  with  considerable  inter- 
vals between  them,  and  exquisite  delicacy  and  fancy  of  sculpt- 
ure in  their  own  designs  ;  if  very  small,  they  may  become 
more  frequent,  and  describe  lines  by  a  chain  of  points  ;  but 
their  whole  value  is  lost  if  they  are  gathered  into  bunches  or 
clustered  into  tassels  and  knots  ;  and  an  over-indulge  n  ce  in 
them  always  marks  lowness  of  school.  In  Venice,  the  addi- 
tion of  the  finial  to  the  arch-head  is  the  first  sign  of  degrada- 
tion ;  all  her  best  architecture  is  entirely  without  either  crock- 
ets or  finials  ;  and  her  ecclesiastical  architecture  may  be  classed, 
with  fearless  accuracy,  as  better  or  worse,  in  proportion  to  the 
diminution  or  expansion  of  the  crocket.  The  absolutely  per- 
fect use  of  the  crocket  is  found,  I  think,  in  the  tower  of  Giotto, 
and  in  some  other  buildings  of  the  Pisan  school.  In  the  North 
they  generally  err  on  one  side  or  other,  and  are  either  florid 
and  huge,  or  mean  in  outline,  looking  as  if  they  had  been 
pinched  out  of  the  stone-work,  as  throughout  the  entire  cathe- 
dral of  Amiens ;  and  are  besides  connected  with  the  generally 


THE  VESTIBULE. 


341 


spotty  system  which  has  been  spoken  of  under  the  head  of 
archivolt  decoration. 

§  x.  Employed,  however,  in  moderation,  they  are  among  the 
most  delightful  means  of  delicate  expression  ;  and  the  archi- 
tect has  more  liberty  in  their  individual  treatment  than  in  any 
other  feature  of  the  building.  Separated  entirely  from  the 
structural  system,  they  are  subjected  to  no  shadow  of  any 
other  laws  than  those  of  grace  and  chastity  ;  and  the  fancy 
may  range  without  rebuke,  for  materials  of  their  design, 
through  the  whole  field  of  the  visible  or  imaginable  creation. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE  VESTIBULE. 

§  i.  I  have  hardly  kept  my  promise.  The  reader  has  deco- 
rated but  little  for  himself  as  yet  ;  but  I  have  not,  at  least, 
attempted  to  bias  his  judgment.  Of  the  simple  forms  of  deco- 
ration which  have  been  set  before  him,  he  has  always  been 
left  free  to  choose  ;  and  the  stated  restrictions  in  the  methods 
of  applying  them  have  been  only  those  which  followed  on  the 
necessities  of  construction  previously  determined.  These  hav- 
ing been  now  denned,  I  do  indeed  leave  my  reader  free  to 
build  ;  and  with  what  a  freedom  !  All  the  lovely  forms  of  the 
universe  set  before  him,  whence  to  choose,  and  all  the  lovely 
lines  that  bound  their  substance  or  guide  their  motion  ;  and 
of  all  these  lines,  — and  there  are  myriads  of  myriads  in  every 
bank  of  grass  and  every  tuft  of  forest  ;  and  groups  of  them 
divinely  harmonized,  in  the  bell  of  every  flower,  and  in  every 
several  member  of  bird  and  beast, — of  all  these  lines,  for  the 
principal  forms  of  the  most  important  members  of  architect- 
are,  I  have  used  but  Three  !  What,  therefore,  must  be  the 
infinity  of  the  treasure  in  them  ail  !  There  is  material  enough 
in  a  single  flower  for  the  ornament  of  a  score  of  cathedrals, 
but  suppose  we  were  satisfied  with  less  exhaustive  appliance, 
and  built  a  score  of  cathedrals,  each  'to  illustrate  a  single 
flower?  that  would  be  better  than  trying  to  invent  new 


$42 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


styles,  I  think.  There  is  quite  difference  of  style  enough,  be< 
tween  a  violet  and  a  harebell,  for  all  reasonable  purposes. 

§  it.  Perhaps,  however,  even  more  strange  than  the  strug- 
gle of  our  architects  to  invent  new  styles,  is  the  way  they  com- 
monly speak  of  this  treasure  of  natural  infinity.  Let  us  take 
our  patience  to  us  for  an  instant,  and  hear  one  of  them,  not 
among  the  least  intelligent : — 

"  It  is  not  true  that  all  natural  forms  are  beautiful.  We 
may  hardly  be  able  to  detect  this  in  Nature  herself  ;  but  when 
the  forms  are  separated  from  the  things,  and  exhibited  alone 
(by  sculpture  or  carving),  we  then  see  that  they  are  not  all 
fitted  for  ornamental  purposes  ;  and  indeed  that  very  few,  per- 
haps none,  are  so  fitted  without  correction.  Yes,  I  say  cor- 
rection,  for  though  it  is  the  highest  aim  of  every  art  to  imitate 
nature,  this  is  not  to  be  done  by  imitating  any  natural  form, 
but  by  criticising  and  correcting  it, — criticising  it  by  Nature's 
rules  gathered  from  all  her  works,  but  never  completely  car- 
ried out  by  her  in  any  one  work  ;  correcting  it,  by  rendering- 
it  more  natural,  i.  e.  more  conformable  to  the  general  tendency 
of  Nature,  according  to  that  noble  maxim  recorded  of  Eaffaelle, 
'  that  the  artist's  object  was  to  make  things  not  as  Nature 
makes  them,  but  as  she  would  make  them  ; '  as  she  ever  tries 
to  make  them,  but  never  succeeds,  though  her  aim  may  be  de- 
duced from  a  comparison  of  her  efforts  ;  just  as  if  a  number 
of  archers  had  aimed  unsuccessfully  at  a  mark  upon  a  wall, 
and  this  mark  were  then  removed,  we  could  by  the  examina- 
tion of  their  arrow  marks  point  out  the  most  probable  position 
of  the  spot  aimed  at,  with  a  certainty  of  being  nearer  to  it  than 
any  of  their  shots."  * 

§  in.  I  had  thought  that,  by  this  time,  we  had  done  with 
that  stale,  second-hand,  one-sided,  and  misunderstood  saying 
of  Eaffaelle's ;  or  that  at  least,  in  these  days  of  purer  Christian 
light,  men  might  have  begun  to  get  some  insight  into  the 
meaning  of  it :  Eaffaelle  was  a  painter  of  humanity,  and  as- 
suredly there  is  something  the  matter  with  humanity,  a  few 
dovrebbe's,  more  or  less,  wanting  in  it.  We  have  most  of  us 
heard  of  original  sin,  and  may  perhaps,  in  our  modest  moments, 
conjecture  that  we  are  not  quite  what  God,  or  nature,  would 

*  Garbett  on  Design,  p.  74. 


THE  vestibule. 


343 


have  us  to  be.  Raffaelle  had  something  to  mend  in  Humanity : 
I  should  have  liked  to  have  seen  him  mending  a  daisy ! — or  a 
pease-blossom,  or  a  moth,  or  a  mustard  seed,  or  any  other  of 
God's  slightest  works.  If  he  had  accomplished  that,  one 
might  have  found  for  him  more  respectable  employment,— 
to  set  the  stars  in  better  order,  perhaps  (they  seem  grievously 
scattered  as  they,  are,  and  to  be  of  all  manner  of  shapes  and 
sizes, — except  the  ideal  shape,  and  the  proper  size)  ;  or  to  give 
us  a  corrected  view  of  the  ocean  ;  that,  at  least,  seems  a  very 
irregular  and  improveable  thing  ;  the  very  fishermen  do  not 
know,  this  day,  how  far  it  will  reach,  driven  up  before  the 
west  wind : — perhaps  Some  One  else  does,  but  that  is  not  our 
business.  Let  us  go  down  and  stand  by  the  beach  of  it, — of 
the  great  irregular  sea,  and  count  whether  the  thunder  of  it  is 
not  out  of  time.  One, — two  : — here  comes  a  well-formed  wave 
at  last,  trembling  a  little  at  the  top,  but,  on  the  whole,  orderly. 
So,  crash  among  the  shingle,  and  up  as  far  as  this  grey  pebble  ; 
now  stand  by  and  watch  !  Another  : — Ah,  careless  wave  !  why 
couldn't  you  have  kept  your  crest  on  ?  it  is  all  gone  away  into 
spray,  striking  up  against  the  cliffs  there — I  thought  as  much 
— missed  the  mark  by  a  couple  of  feet !  Another  : — How  now, 
impatient  one  !  couldn't  you  have  waited  till  your  friend's  re- 
flux was  done  with,  instead  of  rolling  yourself  up  with  it  in 
that  unseemly  manner  ?  You  go  for  nothing.  A  fourth,  and 
a  goodly  one  at  last.  What  think  we  of  yonder  slow  rise,  and 
crystalline  hollow,  without  a  flaw  ?  Steady,  good  wave  ;  not 
so  fast  ;  not  so  fast ;  where  are  you  coming  to  ? — By  our  archi- 
tectural word,  this  is  too  bad  ;  two  yards  over  the  mark,  and 
ever  so  much  of  you  in  our  face  besides  ;  and  a  wave  which  we 
had  some  hope  of,  behind  there,  broken  all  to  pieces  out  at  sea, 
and  laying  a  great  white  table-cloth  of  foam  all  the  way  to  the 
shore,  as  if  the  marine  gods  were  to  dine  off  it !  Alas,  for 
these  unhappy  arrow  shots  of  Nature  ;  she  will  never  hit  her 
mark  with  those  unruly  waves  of  hers,  nor  get  one  of  them 
into  the  ideal  shape,  if  we  wait  for  a  thousand  years.  Let  us 
send  for  a  Greek  architect  to  do  it  for  her.  He  comes — the 
great  Greek  architect,  with  measure  and  rule.  "Will  he  nofc 
also  make  the  weight  for  the  winds  ?  and  weigh  out  the  waters 


344  THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 

by  measure  ?  and  make  a  decree  for  the  rain,  and  a  way  for  the 
lightning  of  the  thunder  ?  He  sets  himself  orderly  to  his  work, 
and  behold  !  this  is  the  mark  of  nature,  and  this  is  the  thing 
into  which  the  great  Greek  architect  improves  the  sea — 


©aXa-rra,  OdXaTTd :  Was  it  this,  then,  that  they  wept  to  see 
from  the  sacred  mountain — those  wearied  ones  ? 

§  iv.  But  the  sea  was  meant  to  be  irregular !  Yes,  and 
wrere  not  also  the  leaves,  and  the  blades  of  grass  ;  and,  in  a 
sort,  as  far  as  may  be  without  mark  of  sin,  even  the  counte- 
nance of  man  ?  Or  would  it  be  pleasanter  and  better  to  have 
us  all  alike,  and  numbered  on  our  foreheads,  that  we  might 
be  known  one  from  the  other? 

§  v.  Is  there,  then,  nothing  to  be  done  by  man's  art?  Have 
we  only  to  copy,  and  again  copy,  for  ever,  the  imagery  of  the 
universe  ?  Not  so.  We  have  work  to  do  upon  it ;  there  is 
not  any  one  of  us  so  simple,  nor  so  feeble,  but  he  has  work  to 
do  upon  it.  Bat  the  work  is  not  to  improve,  but  to  explain. 
This  infinite  universe  is  unfathomable,  inconceivable,  in  its 
whole  ;  every  human  creature  must  slowly  spell  out,  and  long 
contemplate,  such  part  of  it  as  may  be  possible  for  him  to 
reach  ;  then  set  forth  what  he  has  learned  of  it  for  those  be- 
neath him  ;  extricating  it  from  infinity,  as  one  gathers  a 
dolet  out  of  grass ;  one  does  not  improve  either  violet  or 
grass  in  gathering  it,  but  one  makes  the  flower  visible  ;  and 
then  the  human  being  has  to  make  its  power  upon  his  own 
heart  visible  also,  and  to  give  it  the  honor  of  the  good 
thoughts  it  has  raised  up  in  him,  and  to  write  upon  it  the 
history  of  his  own  soul.  And  sometimes  he  may  be  able  to 
do  more  than  this,  and  to  set  it  in  strange  lights,  and  display 
it  in  a  thousand  ways  before  unknown  :  ways  specially  di- 
rected to  necessary  and  noble  purposes,  for  which  he  had  to 
ehoose  instruments  out  of  the  wide  armor.y  of  God.    All  thifc 


THE  VESTIBULE. 


345 


he  may  do  \  and  in  this  he  is  only  doing  what  every  Christian 
has  to  do  with  the  written,  as  well  as  the  created  word, 
"  rightly  dividing  the  word  of  truth."  Oat  of  the  infinity  of 
the  written  word,  he  has  alno  to  gather  and  set  forth  things 
new  and  old,  to  choose  them  for  the  season  and  the  work  that 
are  before  him,  to  explain  and  manifest  them  to  others,  with 
such  illustration  and  enforcement  as  may  be  in  his  power, 
and  to  crown  them  with  the  history  of  what,  by  them,  God 
has  done  for  his  soul.  And,  in  doing  this,  is  he  improving 
the  Word  of  God  ?  Just  such  difference  as  there  is  between 
the  sense  in  which  a  minister  may  be  said  to  improve  a  text, 
to  the  people's  comfort,  and  the  sense  in  which  an  atheist 
might  declare  that  he  could  improve  the  Book,  which,  if  any 
man  shall  add  unto,  there  shall  be  added  unto  him  the 
plagues  that  are  written  therein  ;  just  such  difference  is  there 
between  that  which,  with  respect  to  Nature,  man  is,  in  his 
humbleness,  called  upon  to  do,  and  that  which,  in  his  inso- 
lence, he  imagines  himself  capable  of  doing. 

§  vi.  Have  no  fear,  therefore,  reader,  in  judging  between 
nature  and  art,  so  only  that  you  love  both.  If  you  can  love 
one  only,  then  let  it  be  Nature  ;  you  are  safe  with  her  :  but 
do  not  then  attempt  to  judge  the  art,  to  which  you  do  not 
care  to  give  thought,  or  time.  But  if  you  love  both,  you  may 
judge  between  them  fearlessly  ;  you  may  estimate  the  last, 
by  its  making  you  remember  the  first,  and  giving  you  the 
same  kind  of  joy.  If,  in  the  square  of  the  city,  you  can  find 
a  delight,  finite,  indeed,  but  pure  and  intense,  like  that  which 
you  have  in  a  valley  among  the  hills,  then  its  art  and  archi- 
tecture are  right ;  but  if,  after  fair  trial,  you  can  find  no  de- 
light in  them,  nor  any  instruction  like  that  of  nature,  I  call 
on  you  fearlessly  to  condemn  them. 

We  are  forced,  for  the  sake  of  accumulating  our  power  and 
knowledge,  to  live  in  cities  ;  but  such  advantage  as  we  have 
in  association  with  each  other  is  in  great  part  counterbalanced 
by  our  loss  of  fellowship  with  nature.  We  cannot  all  have 
our  gardens  now,  nor  our  pleasant  fields  to  meditate  in  at 
eventide.  Then  the  function  of  our  architecture  is,  as  far  as 
may  be,  to  replace  these  ;  to  tell  us  about  nature  ;  to  possess 


346 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


us  with  memories  of  her  quietness  ;  to  be  solemn  and  full  of 
tenderness,  like  her,  and  rich  in  portraitures  of  her  ;  full  of 
delicate  imagery  of  the  flowers  we  can  no  more  gather,  and  of 
the  living  creatures  now  far  away  from  us  in  their  own  soli- 
tude. If  ever  you  felt  or  found  this  in  a  London  Street,— if 
ever  it  furnished  you  with  one  serious  thought,  or  one  ray  of 
true  and  gentle  pleasure, — if  there  is  in  your  heart  a  true  de- 
light in  its  grim  railings  and  dark  casements,  and  wasteful 
finery  of  shops,  and  feeble  coxcombry  of  club-houses, — it  is 
well :  promote  the  building  of  more  like  them.  But  if  they 
never  taught  you  anything,  and  never  made  you  happier  as 
you  passed  beneath  them,  do  not  think  they  have  any  myste- 
rious goodness  nor  occult  sublimity.  Have  done  with  the 
wretched  affectation,  the  futile  barbarism,  of  pretending  to 
enjoy :  for,  as  surely  as  you  know  that  the  meadow  grass, 
meshed  with  fairy  rings,  is  better  than  the  wood  pavement, 
cut  into  hexagons ;  and  as  surely  as  you  know  the  fresh  winds 
and  sunshine  of  the  upland  are  better  than  the  choke-damp 
of  the  vault,  or  the  gas-light  of  the  ball-room,  you  may  know, 
as  I  told  you  that  you  should,  that  the  good  architecture, 
which  has  life,  and  truth,  and  joy  in  it,  is  better  than  the  bad 
architecture,  which  has  death,  dishonesty,  and  vexation  of 
heart  in  it,  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  time. 

§  vii.  And  now  come  with  me,  for  I  have  kept  you  too  long 
from  your  gondola  :  come  with  me,  on  an  autumnal  morning, 
through  the  dark  gates  of  Padua,  and  let  us  take  the  broad 
road  leading  towards  the  East. 

It  lies  level,  for  a  league  or  two,  between  its  elms,  and  vine 
festoons  full  laden,  their  thin  leaves  veined  into  scarlet  hectic, 
and  their  clusters  deepened  into  gloomy  blue ;  then  mounts 
an  embankment  above  the  Brenta,  and  runs  between  the  river 
and  the  broad  plain,  which  stretches  to  the  north  in  endless 
lines  of  mulberry  and  maize.  The  Brenta  flows  slowly,  but 
strongly  ;  a  muddy  volume  of  yellowish-grey  water,  that 
neither  hastens  nor  slackens,  but  glides  heavily  between  its 
monotonous  banks,  with  here  and  there  a  short,  babbling 
eddy  twisted  for  an  instant  into  its  opaque  surface,  and  van- 
ishing, as  if  something  had  been  dragged  into  it  and  gone 


THE  VESTIBULE. 


347 


down.  Dusty  and  shadeless,  the  road  fares  along  the  dyke 
on  its  northern  side  ;  and  the  tall  white  tower  of  Dolo  is  seen 
trembling  in  the  heat  mist  far  away,  and  never  seems  nearer 
than  it  did  at  first.  Presently  you  pass  one  of  the  much 
vaunted  " villas  on  the  Brenta:"  a  glaring,  spectral  shell  of 
brick  and  stucco,  its  windows  with  painted  architraves  like 
picture-frames,  and  a  court-yard  paved  with  pebbles  in  front 
of  it,  all  burning  in  the  thick  glow  of  the  feverish  sunshine, 
but  fenced  from  the  high  road,  for  magnificence  sake,  with 
goodly  posts  and  chains  ;  then  another,  of  Kew  Gothic,  with 
Chinese  variations,  painted  red  and  green  ;  a  third  composed 
for  the  greater  part  of  dead-wall,  with  fictitious  windows 
painted  upon  it,  each  with  a  pea-green  blind,  and  a  classical 
architrave  in  bad  perspective  ;  and  a  fourth,  with  stucco  fig- 
ures set  on  the  top  of  its  garden- wall  :  some  antique,  like  the 
kind  to  be  seen  at  the  corner  of  the  New  Road,  and  some  of 
clumsy  grotesque  dwarfs,  with  fat  bodies  and  large  boots. 
This  is  the  architecture  to  which  her  studies  of  the  Renais- 
sance have  conducted  modern  Italy. 

§  viii.  The  sun  climbs  steadily,  and  warms  into  intense 
white  the  walls  of  the  little  piazza  of  Dolo,  where  we  change 
horses.  Another  dreary  stage  among  the  now  divided 
branches  of  the  Brenta,  forming  irregular  and  half-stagnant 
canals  ;  with  one  or  twro  more  villas  on  the  other  side  of  them, 
but  these  of  the  old  Venetian  type,  which  we  may  have  recog- 
nised before  at  Padua,  and  sinking  fast  into  utter  ruin,  black, 
and  rent,  and  lonely,  set  close  to  the  edge  of  the  dull  water, 
with  what  were  once  small  gardens  beside  them,  kneaded  into 
mud,  and  with  blighted  fragments  of  gnarled  hedges  and 
broken  stakes  for  their  fencing ;  and  here  and  there  a  few 
fragments  of  marble  steps,  which  have  once  given  them  grace- 
ful access  from  the  water's  edge,  now  settling  into  the  mud 
in  broken  joints,  ail  aslope,  and  slippery  with  green  weed. 
At  last  the  road  turns  sharply  to  the  north,  and  there  is  an 
open  space,  covered  with  bent  grass,  on  the  right  of  it :  but 
do  not  look  that  way. 

§  ix.  Five  minutes  more,  andLwe  are  in  the  upper  room  or 
the  little  inn  at  Mestre,  glad  of  a  moments  rest  in  shade- 


34$ 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


The  table  is  (always,  I  think)  covered  with  a  cloth  of  nominal 
white  and  perennial  grey,  with  plates  and  glasses  at  due  inter- 
vals, and  small  loaves  of  a  peculiar  white  bread,  made  with 
oil,  and  more  like  knots  of  flour  than  bread.  The  view  from 
its  balcony  is  not  cheerful :  a  narrow  street,  with  a  solitary 
brick  church  and  barren  campanile  on  the  other  side  of  it ; 
and  some  conventual  buildings,  with  a  few  crimson  remnants 
of  fresco  about  their  windows ;  and,  between  them  and  the 
street,  a  ditch  with  some  slow  current  in  it,  and  one  or  two 
small  houses  beside  it,  one  with  an  arbor  of  roses  at  its  door, 
as  in  an  English  tea-garden  ;  the  air,  however,  about  us  hav- 
ing in  it  nothing  of  roses,  but  a  close  smell  of  garlic  and  crabs, 
warmed  by  the  smoke  of  various  stands  of  hot  chestnuts. 
There  is  much  vociferation  also  going  on  beneath  the  window 
respecting  certain  wheelbarrows  which  are  in  rivalry  for  our 
baggage  :  w7e  appease  their  rivalry  with  our  best  patience,  and 
follow  them  down  the  narrow  street. 

§  x.  We  have  but  walked  some  two  hundred  yards  when 
we  come  to  a  low  wharf  or  quay,  at  the  extremity  of  a  canal, 
with  long  steps  on  each  side  down  to  the  water,  which  latter 
we  fancy  for  an  instant  has  become  black  with  stagnation  ; 
another  glance  undeceives  us, — it  is  covered  with  the  black 
boats  of  Venice.  We  enter  one  of  them,  rather  to  try  if  they 
be  real  boats  or  not,  than  with  any  definite  purpose,  and  glide 
away  ;  at  first  feeling  as  if  the  water  were  yielding  continually 
bsneath  fche  boat  and  letting  her  sink  into  soft  vacancy.  It  is 
something  clearer  than  any  water  we  have  seen  lately,  and  of 
a  pale  green ;  the  banks  only  two  or  three  feet  above  it*  of 
mud  and  rank  grass,  with  here  and  there  a  stunted  tree  ;  glid- 
ing swiftly  past  the  small  casement  of  the  gondola,  as  if  they 
were  dragged  by  upon  a  painted  scene. 

Stroke  by  stroke  we  count  the  plunges  of  the  oar,  each 
heaving  up  the  side  of  the  boat  slightly  as  her  silver  beak 
shoots  forward.  We  lose  patience,  and  extricate  ourselves 
from  the  cushions  :  the  sea  air  blows  keenly  by,  as  we  stand 
leaning  on  the  roof  of  the  floating  cell.  In  front,  nothing  to 
be  seen  but  long  canal  and  level  bank  ;  to  the  west,  the  tower 
of  Mestre  is  lowering  fast,  and  behind  it  there  have  risen  pur- 


THE  VESTIBULE. 


349 


pie  shapes,  of  the  color  of  dead  rose-leaves,  all  round  the  hori- 
zon, feebly  defined  against  the  afternoon  sky, — the  Alps  of 
Bassano.  Forward  still :  the  endless  canal  bends  at  last,  and 
then  breaks  into  intricate  angles  about  some  low  bastions,  now 
torn  to  pieces  and  staggering  in  ugly  rents  towards  the  water, 
— the  bastions  of  the  fort  of  Malghera.  Another  turn,  and 
another  perspective  of  canal ;  but  not  interminable.  The 
silver  beak  cleaves  it  fast, — it  widens  :  the  rank  grass  of  the 
banks  sinks  lower,  and  lower,  and  at  last  dies  in  tawny  knots 
along  an  expanse  of  weedy  shore.  Over  it,  on  the  right,  but 
a  few  years  back,  we  might  have  seen  the  lagoon  stretching  to 
the  horizon,  and  the  warm  southern  sky  bending  over  Mala- 
mocco  to  the  sea.  Now  we  can  see  nothing  but  what  seems  a 
low  and  monotonous  dock-yard  wall,  with  flat  arches  to  let 
the  tide  through  it ; — this  is  the  railroad  bridge,  conspicuous 
above  all  things.  But  at  the  end  of  those  dismal  arches,  there 
rises,  out  of  the  wide  water,  a  straggling  line  of  low  and  con- 
fused brick  buildings,  which,  but  for  the  many  towers  which 
are  mingled  among  them,  might  be  the  suburbs  of  an  English 
manufacturing  town.  Four  or  five  domes,  pale,  and  appar- 
ently at  a  greater  distance,  rise  over  the  centre  of  the  line  ; 
but  the  object  which  first  catches  the  eye  is  a  sullen  cloud  of 
black  smoke  brooding  over  the  northern  half  of  it,  and  which 
issues  from  the  belfry  of  a  church. 
It  is  Venice. 


APPENDIX. 


1.  FOUNDATION  OF  VENICE. 

I  find  the  chroniclers  agree  in  fixing  the  year  421,  if  any  s 
the  following  sentence  from  De  Monaci  may  perhaps  interest 
the  reader. 

"  God,  who  punishes  the  sins  of  men  by  war  sorrows,  and 
whose  ways  are  past  finding  out,  willing  both  to  save  the  in- 
nocent blood,  and  that  a  great  power,  beneficial  to  the  whole 
world,  should  arise  in  a  spot  strange  beyond  belief,  moved 
the  chief  men  of  the  cities  of  the  Venetian  province  (which 
from  the  border  of  Pannonia,  extended  as  far  as  the  Adda,  a 
river  of  Lombardy),  both  in  memory  of  past,  and  in  dread  of 
future  distress,  to  establish  states  upon  the  nearer  islands  of 
the  inner  gulphs  of  the  Adriatic,  to  which,  in  the  last  neces- 
sity, they  might  retreat  for  refuge.  And  first  Galienus  de 
Fontana,  Simon  de  Glauconibus,  and  Antonius  Calvus,  or, 
as  others  have  it,  Adalburtus  Falerius,  Thomas  Candiano, 
Comes  Daulus,  Consuls  of  Padua,  by  the  command  of  their 
King  and  the  desire  of  the  citizens,  laid  the  foundations  of 
the  new  commonwealth,  under  good  auspices,  on  the  island 
of  the  Eialto,  the  highest  and  nearest  to  the  mouth  of  the 
deep  river  now  called  the  Brenta,  in  the  year  of  Our  Lord, 
as  many  writers  assure  us,  four  hundred  and  twenty -one,  on 
the  25th  day  of  March."* 

It  is  matter  also  of  very  great  satisfaction  to  know  that 
Venice  was  founded  by  good  Christians  :  "  La  qual  citade  & 
stada  hedificada  da  veri  e  boni  Christiani : "  which  informa- 

*  Ed.  Venetis,  1758,  Lib.  I. 


352 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


tion  I  found  in  the  MS.  coj)y  of  the  Zancarol  Chronicle,  in 
the  library  of  St.  Mark's. 

Finally  the  conjecture  as  to  the  origin  of  her  name,  re- 
corded by  San  so  vino,  will  be  accepted  willingly  by  all  who 
love  Venice  :  "  Fu  interpretato  da  alcuni,  che  questa  voce 
Venetia  vogiia  dire  VENI  ETIAM,  cioe,  vieni  ancora,  e  an- 
cora,  percioche  quante  volte  verrai,  sempre  vedrai  nuove  cose, 
enuove  bellezze." 

2.  POWER  OF  THE  DOGES. 

The  best  authorities  agree  in  giving  the  year  697  as  that  of 
the  election  of  the  first  doge,  Paul  Luke  Anafeste.  He  was 
elected  in  a  general  meeting  of  the  commonalty,  tribunes,  and 
clergy,  at  Heraclea,  "divinus  rebus  procuratis,"  as  usual,  in 
all  serious  work,  in  those  times.  His  authority  is  thus  de- 
fined by  Sabellico,  who  was  not  likely  to  have  exaggerated 
it : — "  Penes  quern  decus  omne  imperii  ac  majestasesset  :  cui 
jus  concilium  cogendi  quoties  de  republica  aliquid  referri 
oporteret ;  qui  tribunos  annuos  in  singulas  insulas  legeret,  a 
quibus  ad  Ducem  esset  provocatio.  Cseterum,  si  quis  digni- 
tatem, ecclesiam,  sacerdotumve  cleri  populique  suffragio  esset 
adeptus,  ita  demum  id  ratum  habere tur  si  dux  ipse  auctor 
factus  esset."  (Lib.  I.)  The  last  clause  is  very  important, 
indicating  the  subjection  of  the  ecclesiastical  to  the  popular 
and  ducal  (or  patrician)  powers,  which,  throughout  her  ca- 
reer, was  one  of  the  most  remarkable  features  in  the  policy 
of  Venice.  The  appeal  from  the  tribunes  to  the  doge  is  also 
important ;  and  the  expression  "  decus  omne  imperii,"  if  of 
somewhat  doubtful  force,  is  at  least  as  energetic  as  could 
have  been  expected  from  an  historian  under  the  influence  of 
the  Council  of  Ten. 

3.  SERRAR  DEL  CONSIGLIO. 

The  date  of  the  decree  which  made  the  right  of  sitting  in 
the  grand  council  hereditary,  is  variously  given  ;  the  Venetian 
historians  themselves  saying  as  little  as  they  can  about  it. 
The  thing  was  evidently  not  accomplished  at  once,  several  de- 


APPENDIX. 


353 


crees  following  in  successive  years :  the  Council  of  Ten  was 
established  without  any  cloubt  in  1310,  in  consequence  of  the 
conspiracy  of  Tiepolo.  The  Venetian  verse,  quoted  by  Muti- 
nelli  (Annali  Urbani  di  Venezia,  p.  153),  is  worth  remember- 
ing. 

"  Del  mille  tresento  e  diese 
A  mezzo  el  mese  delle  ceriese 
Bagiamonte  passo  el  ponte 
E  per  esso  fo  fatto  el  Consegio  di  diese." 

Tlie  reader  cannot  do  better  than  take  1297  as  the  date  of  the 
beginning  of  the  change  of  government,  and  this  will  enable 
him  exactly  to  divide  the  1100  years  from  the  election  of  the 
first  doge  into  600  of  monarchy  and  500  of  aristocrac}'.  The 
coincidence  of  the  numbers  is  somewhat  curious  ;  697  the 
date  of  the  establishment  of  the  government,  1297  of  its 
change,  and  1797  of  its  fall. 

4.   S.   PIETRO  DI  CASTELLO. 

It  is  credibly  reported  to  have  been  founded  in  the  seventh 
century,  and  (with  somewhat  less  of  credibility)  in  a  place 
where  the  Trojans,  conducted  by  Antenor,  had,  after  the  de- 
struction of  Troy,  built  "  un  castello,  chiamato  prima  Troja, 
poscia  Olivolo,  interpretato,  luogo  pieno."  It  seems  that  St. 
Peter  appeared  in  person  to  the  Bishop  of  Heraclea,  and  com- 
manded him  to  found  in  his  honor,  a  church  in  that  spot  of 
the  rising  city  on  the  Kialto  :  "  ove  avesse  veduto  una  mandra 
di  buoi  e  di  pecore  pascolare  unitamente.  Questa  fu  la  pro- 
cligiosa  origine  della  Chiesa  di  San  Pietro,  che  poscia,  o  rino- 
vata,  o  ristaurata,  da  Orso  Participazio  IV  Vescovo  Olivolense, 
divenne  la  Cattedrale  della  Nuova  citta."  (Notizie  Storiche 
delle  Chiese  e  Monasteri  di  Venezia.  Padua,  1758.)  What 
there  was  so  prodigious  in  oxen  and  sheep  feeding  together, 
we  need  St.  Peter,  I  think,  to  tell  us.  The  title  of  Bishop  Gf 
Castello  was  first  taken  in  1091  :  St.  Mark's  was  not  made  the 
cathedral  church  till  1807.  It  may  be  thought  hardly  fair  to 
conclude  the  small  importance  of  the  old  St.  Pietro  di  Castello 
from  the  appearance  of  the  wretched  modernisations  of  1620. 
Vol.  L — 23 


354 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


But  these  modernisations  are  spoken  of  as  improvements; 
and  I  find  no  notice  of  peculiar  beauties  in  the  older  building, 
either  in  the  work  above  quoted,  or  by  Sansovino  ;  who  only 
says  that  when  it  was  destroyed  by  fire  (as  everything  in 
Venice  was,  I  think,  about  three  times  in  a  century),  in  the 
reign  of  Vital  Michele,  it  was  rebuilt  6  'with  good  thick  walls, 
maintaining,  for  all  that,  the  order  of  its  arrangement  taken 
from  the  Greek  mode  of  building."  This  does  not  seem  the 
description  of  a  very  enthusiastic  effort  to  rebuild  a  highly 
ornate  cathedral.  The  present  church  is  among  the  least  in- 
teresting in  Venice  ;  a  wooden  bridge,  something  like  that  of 
Battersea  on  a  small  scale,  connects  its  island,  now  almost  de- 
serted, with  a  wretched  suburb  of  the  city  behind  the  arsenal ; 
and  a  blank  level  of  lifeless  grass,  rotted  away  in  places  rather 
than  trodden,  is  extended  before  its  mildewed  facade  and  soli- 
tary tower. 

5.   PAPAL  POWER  IN  VENICE. 

I  may  refer  the  reader  to  the  eleventh  chapter  of  the 
twenty-eighth  book  of  Daru  for  some  account  of  the  restraints 
to  which  the  Venetian  clergy  were  subjected.  I  have  not  my- 
self been  able  to  devote  any  time  to  the  examination  of  the 
original  documents  bearing  on  this  matter,  but  the  following 
extract  from  a  letter  of  a  friend,  who  will  not  at  present  per- 
mit me  to  give  his  name,  but  who  is  certainly  better  con- 
versant with  the  records  of  the  Venetian  State  than  any 
other  Englishman,  will  be  of  great  value  to  the  general 
reader  : — 

"  In  the  year  1410,  or  perhaps  at  the  close  of  the  thirteenth 
century,  churchmen  were  excluded  from  the  Grand  Council 
and  declared  ineligible  to  civil  employment ;  and  in  the  same 
year,  1410,  the  Council  of  Ten,  with  the  Giunta,  decreed  that 
whenever  in  the  state's  councils  matters  concerning  ecclesias- 
tical affairs  were  being  treated,  all  the  kinsfolk  of  Venetian 
beneficed  clergymen  were  to  be  expelled  ;  and,  in  the  year 
1434,  the  relations  of  churchmen  were  declared  ineligible  to 
the  post  of  ambassador  at  Rome. 


APPENDIX. 


355 


"The  Venetians  never  gave  possession  of  any  see  in  their 
territories  to  bishops  unless  they  had  been  proposed  to  the 
pope  by  the  senate,  which  elected  the  patriarch,  who  was  sup- 
posed, at  the  end  of  the  sixteenth  century,  to  be  liable  to  ex- 
amination by  his  Holiness,  as  an  act  of  confirmation  of  instal- 
lation ;  but  of  course,  everything  depended  on  the  relative 
power  at  any  given  time  of  Rome  and  Venice  :  for  instance,  a 
few  days  after  the  accession  of  Julius  II.,  in  1503,  he  requests 
the  Signory,  cap  in  hand,  to  allow  him  to  confer  the  archbish- 
opric of  Zara  on  a  dependant  of  his,  one  Cipico  the  Bishop 
of  Famagosta.  Six  years  later,  when  V enice  was  overwhelmed 
by  the  leaguers  of  Cambrai,  that  furious  pope  would  assuredly 
have  conferred  Zara  on  Cipico  without  asking  leave.  In  1608, 
the  rich  Camaldolite  Abbey  of  Vangadizza,  in  the  Polesine, 
fell  vacant  through  the  death  of  Lionardo  Loredano,  in  whose 
family  it  had  been  since  some  while.  The  Venetian  ambassa- 
dor at  Rome  received  the  news  on  the  night  of  the  28th  De- 
cember ;  and,  on  the  morrow,  requested  Paul  IV.  not  to  dis- 
pose of  this  preferment  until  he  heard  from  the  senate.  The 
pope  talked  of  £  poor  cardinals  '  and  of  Lis  nephew,  but  made 
no  positive  reply  ;  and,  as  Francesco  Contarini  was  withdraw- 
ing, said  to  him  :  *  My  Lord  ambassador,  with  this  opportu- 
nity we  will  inform  you  that,  to  our  very  great  regret,  we  un- 
derstand that  the  chiefs  of  the  Ten  mean  to  turn  sacristans  ; 
for  they  order  the  .parish  priests  to  close  the  church  doors  at 
the  Ave  Maria,  and  not  to  ring  the  bells  at  certain  hours.  This 
is  precisely  the  sacristan's  office  ;  we  don't  know  why  their 
lordships,  by  printed  edicts,  which  we  have  seen,  choose  to  in- 
terfere in  this  matter.  This  is  -pure  and  mere  ecclesiastical 
jurisdiction ;  and  even,  in  case  of  any  inconvenience  arising, 
is  there  not  the  patriarch,  w7ho  is  at  any  rate  your  own  ;  why 
not  apply  to  him,  who  could  remedy  these  irregularities  ? 
These  are  matters  which  cause  us  very  notable  displeasure ; 
we  say  so  that  the}r  may  be  written  and  known  :  it  is  decided 
by  the  councils  and  canons,  and  not  uttered  by  us,  that  who- 
soever forms  any  resolve  against  the  ecclesiastical  liberty,  can- 
not do  so  without  incurring  censure  :  and  in  order  that  Father 
Paul  [Bacon's  correspondent]  may  not  say  hereafter,  as  he  did 


S56 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


in  his  past  writings,  that  our  predecessors  assented  eithet 
tacitly  or  by  permission,  we  declare  that  we  do  not  give  our 
assent,  nor  do  we  approve  it  ;  nay,  wre  blame  it,  and  let  this 
be  announced  in  Venice,  so  that,  for  the  rest,  every  one  may 
take  care  of  his  own  conscience.  St  Thomas  a  Becket,  whose 
festival  is  celebrated  this  very  day,  suffered  martyrdom  for  the 
ecclesiastical  liberty  ;  it  is  our  duty  likewise  to  support  and 
defend  it.5  Contarini  says  :  f  This  remonstrance  was  delivered 
with  some  marks  of  anger,  which  induced  me  to  tell  him  how 
the  tribunal  of  the  most  excellent  the  Lords  chiefs  of  the  Ten  is 
in  our  country  supreme  ;  that  it  does  not  doits  business  unad- 
visedly, or  condescend  to  unworthy  matters  ;  and  that,  there- 
fore, should  those  Lords  have  come  to  any  public  declaration  of 
their  will,  it  must  be  attributed  to  orders  anterior,  and  to  im- 
memorial custom  and  authority,  recollecting  that,  on  former 
occasions  likewise,  similar  commissions  were  given  to  j)revent 
divers  incongruities  ;  wherefore  an  upright  intention,  such  as 
this,  ought  not  to  be  taken  in  any  other  sense  than  its  own, 
especially  as  the  parishes  of  Venice  were  in  her  own  gift/  &c. 
&c.  The  pope  persisted  in  bestowing  the  abbacy  on  his  nephew, 
but  the  republic  would  not  give  possession,  and  a  compromise 
was  effected  by  its  being  conferred  on  the  Venetian  Matteo 
Friuli,  w  ho  allowed  the  cardinal  five  thousand  ducats  per  an- 
num out  of  its  revenues.  A  few  years  before  this,  this  very 
same  pope  excommunicated  the  State,  because  she  had  im- 
prisoned two  churchmen  for  heinous  crimes  ;  the  strife  lasted 
for  more  than  a  year,  and  ended  through  the  mediation  of 
Henry  IV.,  at  whose  suit  the  prisoners  were  delivered  to  the 
French  ambassador,  who  made  them  over  to  a  papal  commis- 
sioner. 

"In  January,  1484,  a  tournament  was  in  preparation  on  St 
Mark's  Square  :  some  murmurs  had  been  heard  about  the  dis- 
tribution of  the  prizes  having  been  pre-arranged,  without  re- 
gard to  the  '  best  man.'  One  of  the  chiefs  of  the  Ten  was 
walking  along  Rialto  on  the  28th  January,  when  a  young 
priest,  twenty-two  years  old,  a  sword-cutler's  son,  and  a  Bo- 
log  nese,  and  one  of  Perugia,  both  men-at-arms  under  Robert 
Sansoverino,  fell  upon  a  clothier  with  drawn  weapons.  The 


APPENDIX. 


357 


chief  of  the  Ten  desired  they  might  be  seized,  but  at  the  mo- 
ment the  priest  escaped  ;  he  was,  however,  subsequently  re- 
taken, and  in  that  very  evening  hanged  by  torch-light  between 
the  columns  with  the  two  soldiers.  Innocent  VIII.  was  less 
powerful  than  Paul  IV.  ;  Venice  weaker  in  1605  than  in  1484. 

a  *  *  *  The  exclusion  from  the  Grand  Council,  whether  at 
the  end  of  the  fourtenth  or  commencement  of  the  following 
century,  of  the  Venetian  ecclesiastics,  (as  induced  either  by 
the  republic's  acquisitions  on  the  main  land  then  made,  and 
which,  through  the  rich  benefices  they  embraced,  might  have 
rendered  an  ambitious  churchman  as  dangerous  in  the  Grand 
Council  as  a  victorious  condottiere  ;  or  from  dread  of  their 
allegiance  being  divided  between  the  church  and  their  coun« 
try,  it  being  acknowledged  that  no  man  can  serve  two  masters,) 
did  not  render  them  hostile  to  their  fatherland,  whose  in- 
terests were,  with  very  few  exceptions,  eagerly  fathered  by 
the  Venetian  prelates  at  Rome,  who,  in  their  turn,  received 
ail  honor  at  Venice,  where  state  receptions  given  to  cardinals 
of  the  houses  of  Correr,  Grimani,  Cornaro,  Pisani,  Contarini, 
Zeno,  Delfi.no,  and  others,  vouch  for  the  good  understanding 
that  existed  between  the  £  Papalists '  and  their  countrymen. 
The  Cardinal  Grimani  was  instrumental  in  detaching  Julius 
II.  from  the  league  of  Cambrai  ;  the  Cardinal  Cornaro  always 
aided  the  state  to  obtain  anything  required  of  Leo  X.  ;  and, 
both  before  and  after  their  times,  all  Venetians  that  had  a 
seat  in  the  Sacred  College  were  patriots  rather  than  pluralists  : 
I  mean  that  they  cared  more  for  Venice  than  for  their  bene- 
fices, admitting  thus  the  soundness  of  that  policy  which  de- 
nied them  admission  into  the  Grand  Council." 

To  this  interesting  statement,  I  shall  add,  from  the  twenty- 
eighth  book  of  Daru,  two  passages,  well  deserving  considera- 
tion by  us  English  in  present  days : 

"Pour  etre  parfaitement  assuree  contre  les  envahissements 
de  la  puissance  ecclesiastique,  Venise  commenca  par  lui  oter 
tout  pretexte  d'intervenir  dans  les  affaires  de  l'Etat ;  elle  resta 
invariablement  fidele  au  dogme.  Jamais  aucune  des  opinions 
nouvelles  n'y  prit  la  moindre  faveur  ;  jamais  aucun  heresiarque 
ne  sortit  de  Venise.    Les  conciles,  les  disputes,  les  guerres  de 


358 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


religion,  se  passerent  sans  qu'elle  y  prit  jamais  la  moindre 
part.  Inebranlable  dans  sa  foi,  elle  ne  fut  pas  moins  invaria- 
ble dans  son  systeme  de  tolerance.  Non  seulement  ses  sujets 
de  la  religion  grecque  conserverent  l'exercise  de  leur  culte, 
leurs  eveques  et  leurs  pretres ;  mais  les  Protestantes,  les 
Armenians,  les  Mahomitans,  les  Juifs,  toutes  les  religions, 
toutes  les  sectes  qui  se  trouvaient  dans  Venise,  avaient  des 
temples,  et  la  sepulture  dans  les  eglises  n'etait  point  refuse 
aux  heretiques.  Une  police  vigilante  s'appliquait  avec  le 
rajme  soin  a  eteindre  les  discordes,  et  a  empccher  les  fana- 
tiques  et  les  novateurs  de  tro abler  l'Etat." 

*  *  %  *  f  *  *  He 

"  Si  on  considere  que  e'est  dansun  temps  oil  presque  toutes 
les  nations  tremblaient  devant  la  puissance  pontificale,  que 
les  Venitiens  surent  tenir  leur  clerge  dans  la  dependance,  et 
braver  souvent  les  censures  ecclesiastiques  et  les  interdits, 
sans  encourir  jamais  aucun  reproclie  sur  la  purete  de  leur 
foi,  on  sera  force  de  reconnaitre  que  cette  republique  avait 
devance  de  loin  les  autres  peuples  dans  cette  partie  de  la 
science  du  gouvernement.  La  f ameuse  maxime, c  Siamo  vene- 
ziani,  poi  cliristiani/  n'etait  qu  une  formule  energique  qui  ne 
prouvait  point  quils  voulussent  placer  Tinteret  de  la  religion 
apres  celui  de  l'Etat,  mais  qui  annon^ait  leur  invariable  re- 
solution de  ne  pas  souffrir  qu'un  pouvoir  etranger  portat 
atteinte  aux  droits  de  la  republique. 

"Dans  toute  la  duree  de  son  existence,  au  milieu  des  re  vers 
comme  dans  la  prosperite,  cet  inebranlable  gouvernement  ne 
fit  qu'une  seule  fois  des  concessions  a  la  cour  de  Rome,  et  ce 
fut  pour  detacher  le  Pape  Jules  II.  de  la  ligue  de  Cambrai. 

"Jamais  il  ne  se  relaeha  du  soin  de  tenir  le  clerge  dans  une 
nullite  absolue  relativement  aux  affaires  politiques ;  on  peut 
en  juger  par  la  conduite  qu'il  tint  avec  Tordre  religieux  le  plus 
redoutable  et  le  plus  accoutume  a  s'immiscer  dans  les  secrets 
de  l'Etat  et  dans  les  interets  temporels." 

The  main  points,  next  stated,  respecting  the  Jesuits  are, 
that  the  decree  which  permitted  their  establishment  in  Venice 
required  formal  renewal  every  three  years  ;  that  no  Jesuit 
could  stay  in  Venice  more  than  three  years  ;  that  the  slightest 


APPENDIX. 


359 


disobedience  to  the  authority  of  the  government  was  instantly 
punished  by  imprisonment ;  that  no  Venetian  could  enter  the 
order  without  express  permission  from  the  government ;  that 
the  notaries  were  forbidden  to  sanction  any  testamentary  dis- 
posal of  property  to  the  Jesuits  ;  finally,  that  the  heads  of 
noble  families  were  forbidden  to  permit  their  children  to  be 
educated  in  the  Jesuits'  colleges,  on  pain  of  degradation  from 
their  rank. 

Now,  let  it  be  observed  that  the  enforcement  of  absolute 
exclusion  of  the  clergy  from  the  councils  of  the  state,  dates 
exactly  from  the  period  which  I  have  marked  for  the  com- 
mencement of  the  decline  of  the  Venetian  power.  The  Ro- 
manist is  welcome  to  his  advantage  in  this  fact,  if  advantage 
it  be  ;  for  I  do  not  bring  forward  the  conduct  of  the  senate 
of  Venice,  as  Daru  does,  by  way  of  an  example  of  the  general 
science  of  government.  The  Venetians  accomplished  therein 
what  we  ridiculously  call  a  separation  of  "  Church  and  State  " 
(as  if  the  State  were  not,  in  all  Christendom,  necessarily  also 
the  Church*),  but  ought  to  call  a  separation  of  lay  and  clerical 
officers.  I  do  not  point  out  this  separation  as  subject  of 
praise,  but  as  the  witness  borne  by  the  Venetians  against  the 
principles  of  the  Papacy.  If  they  were  to  blame,  in  yielding 
to  their  fear  of  the  ambitious  spirit  of  Eome  so  far  as  to  de- 
prive their  councils  of  all  religious  element,  what  excuse  are 
we  to  offer  for  the  state,  which,  wTith  Lords  Spiritual  of  her 
own  faith  already  in  her  senate,  permits  the  polity  of  Rome 
to  be  represented  by  lay  members  ?  To  have  sacrificed  relig- 
ion to  mistaken  policy,  or  purchased  security  with  ignominy, 
would  have  been  no  new  thing  in  the  world's  history  ;  but  to 
be  at  once  impious  and  impolitic,  and  seek  for  danger  through 
dishonor,  was  reserved  for  the  English  parliament  of  1829. 

I  am  glad  to  have  this  opportunity  of  referring  to,  and  far- 
ther enforcing,  the  note  on  this  subject  which,  not  without 
deliberation,  I  appended  to  the  "  Seven  Lamps  ;  "  and  of  add- 
ing to  it  the  following  passage,  written  by  my  father  in  the 
year  1839,  and  published  in  one  of  the  journals  of  that  year; 

*  Compare  Appendix  12. 


300 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


— a  passage  remarkable  as  much  for  its  intrinsic  value,  as  foi 
Laving  stated,  twelve  years  ago,  truths  to  which  the  mind  ci 
England  seems  but  now,  and  that  slowly,  awakening. 

"  We  hear  it  said,  that  it  cannot  be  merely  the  Roman  re- 
ligion that  causes  the  difficulty  [respecting  Ireland],  for  we 
were  once  all  Roman  Catholics,  and  nations  abroad  of  this 
faith  are  not  as  the  Irish.  It  is  totally  overlooked,  that  when 
we  were  so,  our  government  was  despotic,  and  fit  to  cope  with 
this  dangerous  religion,  as  most  of  the  Continental  govern- 
ments yet  are.  In  what  Roman  Catholic  state,  or  in  what  age 
of  Roman  Catholic  England,  did  we  ever  hear  of  such  agitation 
as  now  exists  in  Ireland  by  evil  men  taking  advantage  of  an 
anomalous  state  of  things — Roman  Catholic  ignorance  in  the 
people,  Protestant  toleration  in  the  government  ?  "We  have 
yet  to  feel  the  tremendous  difficulty  in  which  Roman  Catholic 
emancipation  has  involved  us.  Too  late  we  discover  that  a 
Roman  Catholic  is  wholly  incapable  of  being  safely  connected 
with  the  British  constitution,  as  it  now  exists,  in  a?iy  near  re- 
lation. The  present  constitution  is  no  longer  fit  for  Catholics. 
It  is  a  creature  essentially  Protestant,  growing  with  the  growth, 
and  strengthening  with  the  strength,  of  Protestantism.  So 
entirely  is  Protestantism  interwoven  with  the  whole  frame  of 
our  constitution  and  laws,  that  I  take  my  stand  on  this,  against 
ail  agitators  in  existence,  that  the  Roman  religion  is  totally 
incompatible  with  the  British  constitution.  We  have,  in  try- 
ing to  combine  them,  got  into  a  maze  of  difficulties  ;  we  are 
the  worse,  and  Ireland  none  the  better.  It  is  idle  to  talk  of 
municipal  reform  or  popular  Lords  Lieutenant.  The  mild 
sway  of  a  constitutional  monarchy  is  not  strong  enough  for  a 
Roman  Catholic  population.  The  stern  soul  of  a  Republican 
would  not  shrink  from  sending  half  the  misguided  population 
and  all  the  priests  into  exile,  and  planting  in  their  place  an 
industrious  Protestant  people.  But  you  cannot  do  this,  and 
you  cannot  convert  the  Irish,  nor  by  other  means  make  them 
fit  to  wear  the  mild  restraints  of  a  Protestant  Government. 
It  was,  moreover,  a  strange  logic  that  begot  the  idea  of  ad- 
mitting Catholics  to  administer  any  part  of  our  laws  or  consti- 
tution.   It  was  admitted  by  all  that,  by  the  very  act  of  aban* 


APPENDIX. 


361 


cloning  the  Roman  religion,  we  became  a  free  and  enlightened 
people.  It  was  only  by  throwing  oft'  the  yoke  of  that  slavish 
religion  that  we  attained  to  the  freedom  of  thought  which  has 
advanced  us  in  the  scale  of  society.  We  are  so  much  advanced 
by  adopting  and  adhering  to  a  reformed  religion,  that  to  prove 
our  liberal  and  unprejudiced  views,  we  throw  down  the  bar- 
riers betwixt  the  two  religions,  of  which  the  one  is  the  ac 
knowledged  cause  of  light  and  knowledge,  the  other  the  cause 
of  darkness  and  ignorance.  We  are  so  much  altered  to  the 
better  by  leaving  this  people  entirely,  and  giving  them  neither 
part  nor  lot  amongst  us,  that  it  becomes  proper  to  mingle 
again  with  them.  We  have  found  so  much  good  in  leaving 
them,  that  we  deem  it  the  best  possible  reason  for  returning 
to  be  among  them.  No  fear  of  their  Church  again  shaking 
us,  with  all  our  light  and  knowledge.  It  is  true,  the  most 
enlightened  nations  fell  under  the  spell  of  her  enchantments, 
fell  into  total  darkness  and  superstition  ;  but  no  fear  of  us — 
we  are  too  well  informed  !  What  miserable  reasoning  !  infat- 
uated presumption  !  I  fear  me,  when  the  Roman  religion 
rolled  her  clouds  of  darkness  over  the  earlier  ages,  that  she 
quenched  as  much  light,  and  knowledge,  and  judgment  as 
our  modern  Liberals  have  ever  displayed.  I  do  not  expect  a 
statesman  to  discuss  the  point  of  Transubstantiation  betwixt 
Protestant  and  Catholic,  nor  to  trace  the  narrow  lines  which 
divide  Protestant  sectarians  from  each  other ;  but  can  any 
statesman  that  shall  have  taken  even  a  cursory  glance  at  the 
face  of  Europe,  hesitate  a  moment  on  the  choice  of  the  Prot- 
estant religion  ?  If  he  unfortunately  knew  nothing  of  its  be- 
ing the  true  one  in  regard  to  our  eternal  interests,  he  is  at 
least  bound  to  see  whether  it  be  not  the  best  for  the  worldly 
prosperity  of  a  people.  He  may  be  but  moderately  imbued 
with  pious  zeal  for  the  salvation  of  a  kingdom,  but  at  least  he 
will  be  expected  to  weigh  the  comparative  merits  of  religion^ 
as  of  law  or  government ;  and  blind,  indeed,  must  he  be  if  he 
does  not  discern  that,  in  neglecting  to  cherish  the  Protestant 
faith,  or  in  too  easily  yielding  to  any  encroachments  on  it,  he 
is  foregoing  the  use  of  a  state,  engine  more  powerful  than  all 
the  laws  which  the  uninspired  legislators  of  the  earth  have 


3G2 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


ever  promulgated,  in  promoting  the  happiness,  the  peace5 
prosperity,  and  the  order,  the  industry,  and  the  wealth,  of  a 
people  ;  in  forming  every  quality  valuable  or  desirable  in  a 
subject  or  a  citizen  ;  in  sustaining  the  public  mind  at  that 
point  of  education  and  information  that  forms  the  best  se- 
curity for  the  state,  and  the  best  preservative  for  the  freedom 
of  a  people,  whether  religious  or  political." 

6.  RENAISSANCE  ORNAMENTS. 

There  having  been  three  principal  styles  of  architecture  in 
Venice, — the  Greek  or  Byzantine,  the  Gothic,  and  the  Renais- 
sance, it  will  be  shown,  in  the  sequel,  that  the  Renaissance 
itself  is  divided  into  three  correspondent  families  :  Renaissance 
engrafted  on  Byzantine,  which  is  earliest  and  best ;  Renais- 
sance engrafted  on  Gothic,  which  is  second,  and  second  best ; 
Renaissance  on  Renaissance,  which  is  double  darkness,  and 
worst  of  all.  The  palaces  in  which  Renaissance  is  engrafted 
on  Byzantine  are  those  noticed  by  Oommynes :  they  are  char- 
acterized by  an  ornamentation  very  closely  resembling,  and 
in  some  cases  identical  with,  early  Byzantine  work ;  namely, 
groups  of  colored  marble  circles  inclosed  in  interlacing  bands. 
I  have  put  on  the  opposite  page  one  of  these  ornaments,  from 
the  Ca'  Trevisan,  in  which  a  most  curious  and  delicate  piece 
of  inlaid  design  is  introduced  into  a  band  which  is  almost  ex- 
actly copied  from  the  church  of  Theotocos  at  Constantinople, 
and  correspondent  with  others  in  St.  Mark's.  There  is  also 
much  Byzantine  feeling  in  the  treatment  of  the  animals,  es- 
pecially in  the  two  birds  of  the  lower  compartment,  while  the 
peculiar  curves  of  the  cinque  cento  leafage  are  visible  in  the 
leaves  above.  The  dove,  alighted,  with  the  olive-branch 
plucked  off,  is  opposed  to  the  raven  with  restless  expanded 
wings.  Beneath  are  evidently  the  two  sacrifices  "of  every 
clean  fowl  and  of  every  clean  beast."  The  color  is  given  with 
green  and  white  marbles,  the  dove  relieved  on  a  ground  of 
grayish  green,  and  all  is  exquisitely  finished. 

In  Plate  I.,  p.  27,  the  upper  figure  is  from  the  same  palace 
(Ca'  Trevisan),  and  it  is  very  interesting  in  its  proportions.  If 


APPENDIX. 


363 


we  take  five  circles  in  geometrical  proportion,  each  diameter 
being  two-thirds  of  the  diameter  next  above  it,  and  arrange 
the  circles  so  proportioned,  in  contact  with  each  other,  in  the 
manner  shown  in  the  plate,  we  shall  find  that  an  increase  quite 
imperceptible  in  the  diameter  of  the  circles  in  the  angles, 
will  enable  us  to  inscribe  the  whole  in  a  square.  The  lines  so 
described  will  then  run  in  the  centre  of  the  white  bands.  I 
cannot  be  certain  that  this  is  the  actual  construction  of  the 
Trevisan  design,  because  it  is  on  a  high  wall  surface,  where  I 
could  not  get  at  its  measurements  ;  but  I  found  this  construc- 
tion exactly  coincide  with  the  lines  of  my  eye  sketch.  The 
lower  figure  in  Plate  I.  is  from  the  front  of  the  Ca'  Dario,  and 
probably  struck  the  eye  of  Commynes  in  its  first  brightness. 
Salvatico,  indeed,  considers  both  the  Ca'  Trevisan  (which  once 
belonged  to  Bianca  Cappello)  and  the  Ca'  Dario,  as  buildings 
of  the  sixteenth  century.  I  defer  the  discussion  of  the  ques- 
tion at  present,  but  have,  I  believe,  sufficient  reason  for  as- 
suming the  Ca'  Dario  to  have  been  built  about  1486,  and  the 
Ca'  Trevisan  not  much  later. 

7.   VARIETIES  OF  THE  ORDERS. 

Of  these  phantasms  and  grotesques,  one  of  some  general  im- 
portance is  that  commonly  called  Ionic,  of  which  the  idea  was 
taken  (Vitruvius  says)  from  a  woman's  hair,  curled ;  but  its 
lateral  processes  look  more  like  rams'  horns  :  be  that  as  it  may, 
it  is  a  mere  piece  of  agreeable  extravagance,  and  if,  instead  of 
rams'  horns,  you  put  ibex  horns,  or  cows'  horns,  or  an  ass's 
head  at  once,  you  will  have  ibex  orders,  or  ass  orders,  or  any 
number  of  other  orders,  one  for  every  head  or  horn.  Yov 
may  have  heard  of  another  order,  the  Composite,  which  is 
Ionic  and  Corinthian  mixed,  and  is  one  of  the  worst  of  ten 
thousand  forms  referable  to  the  Corinthian  as  their  head  :  it 
may  be  described  as  a  spoiled  Corinthian.  And  you  may  have 
also  heard  of  another  order,  called  Tuscan  (which  is  no  order 
at  all,  but  a  spoiled  Doric)  :  and  of  another  called  Koman 
Doric,  which  is  Doric  more  spoiled,  both  which  are  simply 
among  the  most  stupid  variations  ever  invented  upon  forma 


364 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE, 


already  known.  I  find  also  in  a  French  pamphlet  upon  archi- 
tecture,* as  applied  to  shops  and  dwelling  houses,  a  sixth 
order,  the  "  Ordre  Francais,"  at  least  as  good  as  any  of  the 
three  last,  and  to  be  hailed  with  acclamation,  considering 
whence  it  comes,  there  being  usually  more  tendency  on  the 
other  side  of  the  channel  to  the  confusion  of  "  orders  "  than 
their  multiplication  :  but  the  reader  will  find  in  the  end  that 
there  are  in  very  deed  only  two  orders,  of  which  the  Greek. 
Doric,  and  Corinthian  are  the  first  examples,  and  tliey  not 
perfect,  nor  in  anywise  sufficiently  representative  of  the  vast 
families  to  which  they  belong ;  but  being  the  first  and  the 
best  known,  they  may  properly  be  considered  as  the  types  of 
the  rest.  The  essential  distinctions  of  the  two  great  orders 
he  will  find  explained  in  §§  xxxv.  and  xxxvi.  of  Chap.  XXVII., 
and  in  the  passages  there  referred  to  ;  but  I  should  rather  de- 
sire that  these  passages  might  be  read  in  the  order  in  which 
they  occur. 

8.  THE  NORTHERN  ENERGY. 

I  have  sketched  above,  in  the  First  Chapter,  the  great  events 
of  architectural  history  in  the  simplest  and  fewest  words  I 
could  ;  but  this  indraught  of  the  Lombard  energies  upon  the 
Byzantine  rest,  like  a  wild  north  wind  descending  into  a  space 
of  rarified  atmosphere,  and  encountered  by  an  Arab  simoom 
from  the  south,  may  well  require  from  us  some  farther  atten- 
tion ;  for  the  differences  in  all  these  schools  are  more  in  the 
degrees  of  their  impetuosity  and  refinement  (these  qualities 
being,  in  most  cases,  in  inverse  ratio,  yet  much  united  by  the 
Arabs)  than  in  the  style  of  the  ornaments  they  employ.  Tiie 
same  leaves,  the  same  animals,  the  same  arrangements,  are 
used  by  Scandinavians,  ancient  Britons,  Saxons,  Normans, 

*  L'Artiste  en  Butiments,  par  Louis  Berteaux :  Dijon,  1848.  My 
printer  writes  at  the  side  of  the  page  a  note,  which  I  insert  with  thanks : 
— "  This  is  not  the  first  attempt  at  a  French  order.  The  writer  has  a 
Treatise  by  Sebastian  Le  Clerc,  a  great  man  in  his  generation,  which  con- 
tains a  Roman  order,  a  Spanish  order,  which  the  inventor  appears  to 
think  very  grand,  and  a  neio  French  order  nationalised  by  the  Gallic 
cock  crowing  and  clapping  its  wings  in  the  capital." 


APPENDIX. 


365 


Lombards,  Komans,  Byzantines,  and  Arabians  ;  all  being  alike 
descended  through  classic  Greece  from  Egypt  and  Assyria, 
and  some  from  Phoenicia.  The  belts  which  encompass  the 
Assyrian  bulls,  in  the  hall  of  the  British  Museum,  are  the 
same  as  the  belts  of  the  ornaments  found  in  Scandinavian 
tumuli ;  their  method  of  ornamentation  is  the  same  as  that  of 
the  gate  of  Mycense,  and  of  the  Lombard  pulpit  of  St.  Am- 
brogio  of  Milan,  and  of  the  church  of  Theotocos  at  Constanti- 
nople ;  the  essential  differences  among  the  great  schools  are 
their  differences  of  temper  and  treatment,  and  science  of  ex-* 
pression ;  it  is  absurd  to  talk  of  Norman  ornaments,  and 
Lombard  ornaments,  and  Byzantine  ornaments,  as  formally 
distinguished  ;  but  there  is  irreconcileable  separation  between 
Arab  temper,  and  Lombard  temper,  and  Byzantine  temper. 

Now,  as  far  as  I  have  been  able  to  compare  the  three 
schools,  it  appears  to  me  that  the  Arab  and  Lombard  are  both 
distinguished  from  the  Byzantine  by  their  energy  and  love  of 
excitement,  but  the  Lombard  stands  alone  in  his  love  of  jest : 
Neither  an  Arab  nor  Byzantine  ever  jests  in  his  architecture  ; 
the  Lombard  has  great  difficulty  in  ever  being  thoroughly 
serious  ;  thus  they  represent  three  conditions  of  humanity, 
one  in  perfect  rest,  the  Byzantine,  with  exquisite  perception 
of  grace  and  dignity  ;  the  Arab,  with  the  same  perception  of 
grace,  but  with  a  restless  fever  in  his  blood  ;  the  Lombard, 
equally  energetic,  but  not  burning  himself  away,  capable  of 
submitting  to  law,  and  of  enjoying  jest.  But  the  Arabian 
feverishness  infects  even  the  Lombard  in  the  South,  showing 
itself,  however,  in  endless  invention,  with  a  refreshing  firmness 
and  order  directing  the  whole  of  it.  The  excitement  is  great- 
est in  the  earliest  times,  most  of  all  shown  in  St.  Michele  of 
Pavia  ;  and  I  am  strongly  disposed  to  connect  much  of  its 
peculiar  manifestations  with  the  Lombard's  habits  of  eating 
and  drinking,  especially  his  carnivorousness.  The  Lombard 
of  early  times  seems  to  have  been  exactly  what  a  tiger  would 
be,  if  you  could  give  him  love  of  a  joke,  vigorous  imagination, 
strong  sense  of  justice,  fear  of  hell,  knowledge  of  northern 
mythology,  a  stone  den,  and  a  mallet  and  chisel  ;  fancy  him 
pacing  up  and  down  in  the  said  den  to  digest  his  dinner,  and 


366 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


striking  on  the  wall,  with  a  new  fancy  in  his  head,  at  everv 
turn,  and  you  have  the  Lombardic  sculptor.  As  civilisation 
increases  the  supply  of  vegetables,  and  shortens  that  of  wild 
beasts,  the  excitement  diminishes  ;  it  is  still  strong  in  the 
thirteenth  century  at  Lyons  and  Kouen  ;  it  dies  away  gradu- 
ally in  the  later  Gothic,  and  is  quite  extinct  in  the  fifteenth 
century. 

I  think  I  shall  best  illustrate  this  general  idea  by  simply 
copying  the  entries  in  my  diary  which  were  written  when, 
'after  six  months'  close  study  of  Byzantine  work  in  Venice,  I 
came  again  to  the  Lombard  work  of  Verona  and  Pavia.  There 
are  some  other  points  alluded  to  in  these  entries  not  pertain- 
ing to  the  matter  immediately  in  hand  ;  but  I  have  left  them, 
as  they  will  be  of  use  hereafter. 

"  (Verona.)  Comparing  the  arabesque  and  sculpture  of  the 
Duomo  here  with  St.  Mark's,  the  first  thing  that  strikes  one 
is  the  low  relief,  the  second,  the  greater  motion  and  spirit, 
with  infinitely  less  grace  and  science.  With  the  Byzantine, 
however  rude  the  cutting,  every  line  is  lovely,  and  the  animals 
or  men  are  placed  in  any  attitudes  which  secure  ornamental 
effect,  sometimes  impossible  ones,  always  severe,  restrained, 
or  languid.  With  the  Bomanesque  workmen  all  the  figures 
show  the  effort  (often  successful)  to  express  energetic  action  ; 
hunting  chiefly,  much  fighting,  and  both  spirited  ;  some  of  the 
dogs  running  capitally,  straining  to  it,  and  the  knights  hitting 
hard,  while  yet  the  faces  and  drawing  are  in  the  last  degree 
barbarous.  At  Venice  all  is  graceful,  fixed,  or  languid  ;  the 
eastern  torpor  is  in  every  line, — the  mark  of  a  school  formed 
on  severe  traditions,  and  keeping  to  them,  and  never  likely  or 
desirous  to  rise  beyond  them,  but  with  an  exquisite  sense  of 
beauty,  and  much  solemn  religious  faith. 

"If  the  Greek  outer  archivolt  of  St.  Mark's  is  Byzantine,  the 
law  is  somewhat  broken  by  its  busy  domesticity  ;  figures  en- 
gaged in  every  trade,  and  in  the  preparation  of  viands  of  all 
kinds ;  a  crowded  kind  of  London  Christmas  scene,  inter- 
leaved (literally)  by  the  superb  balls  of  leafage,  unique  in 
sculpture  ;  but  even  this  is  strongly  opposed  to  the  wild  war 
and  chase  passion  of  the  Lombard.    Farther,  the  Lombard 


APPENDIX. 


367 


building  is  as  sharp,  precise,  and  accurate,  as  that  of  St. 
Mark's  is  careless.  The  Byzantines  seem  to  have  been  too 
lazy  to  put  their  stones  together  ;  and,  in  general,  my  first 
impression  on  coming  to  Verona,  after  four  months  in  Venice, 
is  of  the  exquisitely  neat  masonry  and  perfect  feeling  here  ;  a 
style  of  Gothic  formed  by  a  combination  of  Lombard  surface 
ornament  with  Pisan  Gothic,  than  which  nothing  can  possibly 
be  more  chaste,  pure,  or  solemn." 

I  have  said  much  of  the  shafts  of  the  entrance  to  the  crypt 
of  St.  Zeno  ;  *  the  following  note  of  the  sculptures  on  the 
archivolt  above  them  is  to  our  present  purpose  : 

"  It  is  covered  by  very  light  but  most  effective  bas-reliefs  of 
jesting  subject : — two  cocks  carrying  on  their  shoulders  a  long 
staff  to  which  a  fox  (?)  is  tied  by  the  legs,  hanging  down  be- 
tween them  :  the  strut  of  the  foremost  cock,  lifting  one  leg  at 
right  angles  to  the  other,  is  delicious.  Then  a  stag  hunt,  with 
a  centaur  horseman  drawing  a  bow  ;  the  arrow  has  gone  clear 
through  the  stag's  throat,  and  is  sticking  there.  Several  capi- 
tal hunts  with  dogs,  with  fruit  trees  between,  and  birds  in 
them  ;  the  leaves,  considering  the  early  time,  singularly  well 
set,  with  the  edges  outwards,  sharp,  and  deep  cut :  snails  and 
frogs  filling  up  the  intervals,  as  if  suspended  in  the  air,  with 
some  saucy  puppies  on  their  hind  legs,  two  or  three  nonde- 
script beasts ;  and,  finally,  on  the  centre  of  one  of  the  arches 
on  the  south  side,  an  elephant  and  castle, — a  very  strange  ele- 
phant, yet  cut  as  if  the  carver  had  seen  one. 

Observe  this  elephant  and  castle  ;  we  shall  meet  with  him 
farther  north. 

"These  sculptures  of  St.  Zeno  are,  however,  quite  quiet  and 
tame  compared  with  those  of  St.  Michele  of  Pa  via,  which  are 
designed  also  in  a  somewhat  gloomier  mood  ;  significative,  as  I 
think,  of  indigestion.  (Note  that  they  are  much  earlier  than 
St.  Zeno  ;  of  the  seventh  century  at  latest.  There  is  more  of 
nightmare,  and  less  of  wit  in  them.)  Lord  Lindsay  has  de- 
scribed them  admirably,  but  has  not  said  half  enough  ;  the 
state  of  mind  represented  by  the  west  front  is  more  that  of  a 

*  The  lower  group  in  Plate  XVII. 


368 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


feverish  dream,  than  resultant  from  any  determined  architect* 
ural  purpose,  or  even  from  any  definite  love  and  delight  in 
the  grotesque.  One  capital  is  covered  with  amass  of  grinning 
heads,  other  heads  grow  out  of  two  bodies,  or  out  of  and  under 
feet  ;  the  creatures  are  all  fighting,  or  devouring,  or  struggling 
which  shall  be  uppermost,  and  yet  in  an  ineffectual  way,  as  if 
they  would  fight  for  ever,  and  come  to  no  decision.  Neither 
sphinxes  nor  centaurs  did  I  notice,  nor  a  single  peacock  (I  be- 
lieve peacocks  to  be  purely  Byzantine),  but  mermaids  with  two 
tails  (the  sculptor  having  perhaps  seen  double  at  the  time), 
strange,  large  fish,  apes,  stags  (bulls  ?),  dogs,  wolves,  and 
horses,  griffins,  eagles,  long-tailed  birds  (cocks  ?),  hawks,  and 
dragons,  without  end,  or  with  a  dozen  of  ends,  as  the  case  may 
be  ;  smaller  birds,  with  rabbits,  and  small  nondescripts,  filling 
the  friezes.  The  actual  leaf,  which  is  used  in  the  best  Byzan- 
tine mouldings  at  Venice,  occurs  in  parts  of  these  Pavian  de- 
signs. But  the  Lombard  animals  are  all  alive,  and  fiercely 
alive  too,  all  impatience  and  spring  :  the  Byzantine  birds  peck 
idly  at  the  fruit,  and  the  animals  hardly  touch  it  with  their 
noses.  The  cinque  cento  birds  in  Venice  hold  it  up  daintily, 
like  train-bearers ;  the  birds  in  the  earlier  Gothic  peck  at  it 
hungrily  and  naturally ;  but  the  Lombard  beasts  gripe  at  it 
like  tigers,  and  tear  it  off  with  writhing  lips  and  glaring  eyes. 
They  are  exactly  like  Jip  with  the  bit  of  geranium,  wor- 
rying imaginary  cats  in  it." 

The  notice  of  the  leaf  in  the  above  extract  is  important, — it 
is  the  vine-leaf  ;  used  constantly  both  by  Byzantines  and  Lom- 
bards, but  by  the  latter  with  especial  frequency,  though  at 
this  time  they  were,  hardly  able  to  indicate  what  they  meant. 
It  forms  the  most  remarkable  generality  of  the  St.  Michele 
decoration  ;  though,  had  it  not  luckily  been  carved  on  the 
facade,  twining  round  a  stake,  and  with  grapes,  I  should  never 
have  known  what  it  was  meant  for,  its  general  form  being  a 
succession  of  sharp  lobes,  with  incised  furrows  to  the  point  of 
each.  But  it  is  thrown  about  in  endless  change  ;  four  or  five 
varieties  of  it  might  be  found  on  every  cluster  of  capitals :  and 
not  content  with  this,  the  Lombards  hint  the  same  form  even 
in  their  grifiin  wings.    They  love  the  vine  very  heartily. 


Plate  XXL— Wall-veil  Decokation- 


APPENDIX. 


369 


In  St.  Michele  of  Lucca  we  have  perhaps  the  noblest  instance 
in  Italy  of  the  Lombard  spirit  in  its  later  refinement.  It  is 
some  four  centuries  later  than  St.  Michele  of  Pavia,  and  the 
method  of  workmanship  is  altogether  different.  In  the  Pavian 
church,  nearly  all  the  ornament  is  cut  in  a  coarse  sandstone, 
in  bold  relief  :  a  darker  and  harder  stone  (I  think,  not  serpen- 
tine, but  its  surface  is  so  disguised  by  the  lustre  of  ages  that 
I  could  not  be  certain)  is  used  for  the  capitals  of  the  western 
door,  which  are  especially  elaborate  in  their  sculpture  ; — two 
devilish  apes,  or  apish  devils,  I  know  not  which,  with  bristly 
moustaches  and  edgy  teeth,  half-crouching,  with  their  hands 
impertinently  on  their  knees,  ready  for  a  spit  or  a  spring  it" 
one  goes  near  them  ;  but  all  is  pure  bossy  sculpture  ;  there  is 
no  inlaying,  except  of  some  variegated  tiles  in  the  shape  of 
saucers  set  concave  (an  ornament  used  also  very  gracefully  in 
St.  Jacopo  of  Bologna)  :  and  the  whole  surface  of  the  church 
is  enriched  with  the  massy  reliefs,  well  preserved  everywhere 
above  the  reach  of  human  animals,  but  utterly  destroyed  to 
some  five  or  six  feet  from  the  ground  ;  worn  away  into  large 
cellular  hollows  and  caverns,  some  almost  deep  enough  to  ren- 
der the  walls  unsafe,  entirely  owing  to  the  uses  to  which  the 
recesses  of  the  church  are  dedicated  by  the  refined  and  high- 
minded  Italians.  But  St.  Michele  of  Lucca  is  wrought  en- 
tirely in  white  marble  and  green  serpentine  ;  there  is  hardly 
any  relieved  sculpture  except  in  the  capitals  of  the  shafts  and 
cornices,  and  all  the  designs  of  wall  ornament  are  inlaid  with 
exquisite  precision — white  on  dark  ground  ;  the  ground  being 
cut  out  and  filled  with  serpentine,  the  figures  left  in  solid 
marble.  The  designs  of  the  Pavian  church  are  encrusted  on 
the  walls  ;  of  the  Lucchese,  incorporated  with  them ;  small 
portions  of  real  sculpture  being  introduced  exactly  where  the 
eye,  after  its  rest  on  the  flatness  of  the  wall,  will  take  most 
delight  in  the  piece  of  substantial  form.  The  entire  arrange- 
ment is  perfect  beyond  all  praise,  and  the  morbid  restlessness 
of  the  old  designs  is  now  appeased.  Geometry  seems  to  have 
acted  as  a  febrifuge,  for  beautiful  geometrical  designs  are  in- 
troduced amidst  the  tumult  of  the  hunt ;  and  there  is  no  more 
seeing  double,  nor  ghastly  monstrosity  of  conception ;  no  more 
Vol.  I. — 24 


370 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


ending  of  everything  in  something  else  ;  no  more  disputing 
for  spare  legs  among  bewildered  bodies  ;  no  more  setting  on 
of  heads  wrong  side  foremost.  The  fragments  have  come 
together  :  we  are  out  of  the  Inferno  with  its  weeping  down 
the  spine  ;  we  are  in  the  fair  hunting-fields  of  the  Lucchese 
mountains  (though  they  had  their  tears  also), — with  horse, 
and  hound,  and  hawk  ;  and  merry  blast  of  the  trumpet. — Very 
strange  creatures  to  be  hunted,  in  all  truth  ;  but  still  creatures 
with  a  single  head,  and  that  on  their  shoulders,  which  is  ex- 
actly the  last  place  in  the  Pavian  church  where  a  head  is  to  be 
looked  for. 

My  good  friend  Mr.  Cockerell  winders,  in  one  of  his  lect- 
ures, why  I  give  so  much  praise  to  this  "  crazy  front  of 
Lucca."  But  it  is  not  crazy  ;  not  by  any  means.  Altogether 
sober,  in  comparison  with  the  early  Lombard  wrork,  or  with 
our  Norman.  Crazy  in  one  sense  it  is  :  utterly  neglected,  to 
the  breaking  of  its  old  stout  heart ;  the  venomous  nights  and 
salt  frosts  of  the  Maremma  winters  have  their  w7ay  with  it— 
"  Poor  Tom's  a  cold  !  "  The  weeds  that  feed  on  the  marsh 
air,  have  twisted  themselves  into  its  crannies  ;  the  polished 
fragments  of  serpentine  are  split  and  rent  out  of  their  cells, 
and  lie  in  green  ruins  along  its  ledges ;  the  salt  sea  winds 
have  eaten  away  the  fair  shafting  of  its  star  window  into  a 
skeleton  of  crumbling  rays.  It  cannot  stand  much  longer ; 
may  Heaven  only,  in  its  benignity,  preserve  it  from  restora- 
tion, and  the  sands  of  the  Serchio  give  it  honorable  grave. 

In  the  "  Seven  Lamps,"  Plate  VI.,  I  gave  a  faithful  drawing 
of  one  of  its  upper  arches,  to  which  I  must  refer  the  reader  ; 
for  there  is  a  marked  piece  of  character  in  the  figure  of  the 
horseman  on  the  left  of  it.  And  in  making  this  reference,  ] 
would  say  a  few  words  about  those  much  abused  plates  of  the 
"  Seven  Lamps/'  They  are  black,  they  are  overbitten,  they 
are  hastily  drawn,  they  are  coarse  and  disagreeable  ;  how  dis- 
agreeable to  many  readers  I  venture  not  to  conceive.  But 
their  truth  is  carried  to  an  extent  never  before  attempted  in 
architectural  drawing.  It  does  not  in  the  least  follow  that 
because  a  drawing  is  delicate,  or  looks  careful,  it  has  been 
carefully  drawrn  from  the  thing  represented  ;  in  nine  instances 


APPENDIX, 


371 


out  of  ten,  careful  and  delicate  drawings  are  made  at  home. 
It  is  not  so  easy  as  the  reader,  perhaps,  imagines,  to  finish  a 
drawing  altogether  on  the  spot,  especially  of  details  seventy 
feet  from  the  ground  ;  and  any  one  who  will  try  the  position 
in  which  I  have  had  to  do  some  of  my  work — standing, 
namely,  on  a  cornice  or  window  sill,  holding  by  one  arm 
round  a  shaft,  and  hanging  over  the  street  (or  canal,  at  Ven- 
ice), with  my  sketch-book  supported  against  the  w7all  from 
which  I  was  drawing,  by  my  breast,  so  as  to  leave  my  right 
hand  free — will  not  thenceforward  wonder  that  shadows 
should  be  occasionally  carelessly  laid  in,  or  lines  drawn  with 
some  unsteadiness.  But,  steady,  or  infirm,  the  sketches  of 
which  those  plates  in  the  "  Seven  Lamps  "  are  fac-similes,  were 
made  from  the  architecture  itself,  and  represent  that  archi- 
tecture with  its  actual  shadows  at  the  time  of  day  at  which  it 
was  drawn,  and  with  every  fissure  and  line  of  it  as  they  now 
exist ;  so  that  when  I  am  speaking  of  some  new  point,  which 
perhaps  the  drawing  was  not  intended  to  illustrate,  I  can  yet 
turn  back  to  it  with  perfect  certainty  that  if  anything  be  found 
in  it  bearing  on  matters  now  in  hand,  I  may  depend  upon  it 
just  as  securely  as  if  I  had  gone  back  to  look  again  at  the 
building. 

It  is  necessary  that  my  readers  should  understand  this 
thoroughly,  and  I  did  not  before  sufficiently  explain  it ;  but  I 
believe  I  can  show  them  the  use  of  this  kind  of  truth,  now 
that  we  are  again  concerned  with  this  front  of  Lucca.  They 
will  find  a  drawing  of  the  entire  front  in  Gaily  Knight's  "  Ar- 
chitecture of  Italy."  It  may  serve  to  give  them  an  idea  of  its 
general  disposition,  and  it  looks  very  careful  and  accurate  ; 
but  every  bit  of  the  ornament  on  it  is  drawn  out  of  the  ariisfd 
head.  There  is  not  one  line  of  it  that  exists  on  the  building. 
The  reader  will  therefore,  perhaps,  think  my  ugly  black  plate 
of  somewhat  more  value,  upon  the  whole,  in  its  rough  veracity, 
than  the  other  in  its  delicate  fiction.* 

*  One  of  the  upper  stories  is  also  in  Gaily  Knight's  plate  represented 
as  merely  banded,  and  otherwise  plain :  it  is,  in  reality,  covered  with 
as  delicate  inlaying  as  the  rest.  The  whole  front  is  besides  out  of  pro- 
portion, and  out  01  perspective,  at  once  ;  and  yet  this  work  is  referred 


372 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


As,  however,  I  made  a  drawing  of  another  part  of  the  church 
somewhat  more  delicately,  and  as  I  do  not  choose  that  mv 
favorite  church  should  suffer  in  honor  by  my  coarse  work,  I 
have  had  this,  as  far  as  might  be,  fac-simihed  by  line  engrav- 
ing (Plate  XXL).  It  represents  the  southern  side  of  the 
lower  arcade  of  the  west  front ;  and  may  convey  some  idea  of 
the  exquisite  finish  and  grace  of  the  whole  ;  but  the  old  plate, 
in  the  "  Seven  Lamps,"  gives  a  nearer  view  of  one  of  the  up- 
per arches,  and  a  more  faithful  impression  of  the  present 
aspect  of  the  work,  and  especially  of  the  seats  of  the  horse- 
men ;  the  limb  straight,  and  well  down  on  the  stirrup  (the 
warrior's  seat,  observe,  not  the  jockey's),  with  a  single  pointed 
spur  on  the  heel.  The  bit  of  the  lower  cornice  under  this 
arch  I  could  not  see,  and  therefore  had  not  drawn  ;  it  was 
supplied  from  beneath  another  arch.  I  am  afraid,  however, 
the  reader  has  lost  the  thread  of  my  story  while  I  have  been 
recommending  my  veracity  to  him.  I  was  insisting  upon  the 
healthy  tone  of  this  Lucca  work  as  compared  with  the  old 
spectral  Lombard  friezes.  The  apes  of  the  Pavian  church  ride 
without  stirrups,  but  all  is  in  good  order  and  harness  here  : 
civilisation  had  done  its  work  ;  there  was  reaping  of  corn  in 
the  Val  d'Arno,  though  rough  hunting  still  upon  its  hills.  But 
in  the  north,  though  a  century  or  two  later,  we  find  the  for- 
ests of  the  Rhone,  and  its  rude  limestone  cotes,  haunted  by 
phantasms  still  (more  meat-eating,  then,  I  think).  I  do  not 
know  a  more  interesting  group  of  cathedrals  than  that  of 
Lyons,  Vienne,  and  Valencia:  a  more  interesting  indeed,  gen- 
erally, than  beautiful ;  but  there  is  a  row  of  niches  on  the 
west  front  of  Lyons,  and  a  course  of  panelled  decoration  about 
its  doors,  which  is,  without  exception,  the  most  exquisite 
piece  of  Northern  Gothic  I  ever  beheld,  and  with  which  1 

to  as  of  authority,  by  our  architects.  Well  may  our  architecture  fall 
from  its  place  among  the  fine  arts,  as  it  is  doing  rapidly  ;  nearly  all  our 
works  of  value  being  devoted  to  the  Greek  architecture,  which  is  utterly 
useless  to  us— or  worse.  One  most  noble  book,  however  has  been  ded- 
icated to  our  English  abbeys, — Mr.  E.  Sharpe's  "  Architectural  Paral- 
lels"— almost  a  model  of  what  I  should  like  to  see  done  for  the  Gothic 
of  all  Europe. 


APPENDIX. 


373 


know  nothing  that  is  even  comparable,  except  the  work  of  the 
north  transept  of  Rouen,  described  in  the  "Seven  Lamps," 
id.  164 ;  work  of  about  the  same  date,  and  exactly  the  same 
plan  ;  quatrefoils  tilled  with  grotesques,  but  somewhat  less 
finished  in  execution,  and  somewhat  less  wild  in  imagination. 
I  wrote  down  hastily,  and  in  their  own  course,  the  subjects  of 
some  of  the  quatrefoils  of  Lyons  ;  of  which  I  here  give  the 
reader  the  sequence  : — 

1.  Elephant  and  castle ;  less  graphic  than  the  St.  Zeno 

one. 

2.  A  huge  head  walking  on  two  legs,  turned  backwards, 

hoofed  ;  the  head  has  a  horn  behind,  with  drapery 
over  it,  which  ends  in  another  head. 

3.  A  boar  hunt ;  the  boar  under  a  tree,  very  spirited. 

4.  A  bird  putting  its  head  between  its  legs  to  bite  its  own 

tail,  which  ends  in  a  head. 

5.  A  dragon  with  a  human  head  set  on  the  wrong  way. 

6.  St.  Peter  awakened  by  the  angel  in  prison  ;  full  of  spirit, 

the  prison  picturesque,  with  a  trefoiled  arch,  the  an- 
gel eager,  St.  Peter  startled,  and  full  of  motion. 

7.  St.  Peter  led  out  by  the  angel. 

8.  The  miraculous  draught  of  fishes ;  fish  and  all,  in  the 

small  space. 

9.  A  large  loaf,  with  two  snails  rampant,  coming  out  of 

nautilus  shells,  with  grotesque  faces,  and  eyes  at  the 
ends  of  their  horns. 

10.  A  man  with  an  axe  striking  at  a  dog's  head,  winch  comes 

out  of  a  nautilus  shell  :  the  rim  of  the  shell  branches 
into  a  stem  with  two  large  leaves. 

11.  Martyrdom  of  St.  Sebastian  ;  his  body  very  full  of  ar- 

rows. 

12.  Beasts  coming  to  ark  ;  Noah  opening  a  kind  of  wicker 

cage. 

13.  Noah  building  the  ark  on  shores. 

14.  A  vine  leaf  with  a  dragon's  head  and  tail,  the  one  biting 

the  other. 

15.  A  man  riding  a  goat,  catching  a  flying  devil. 


374 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


16.  An  eel  or  mnraena  growing  into  a  bunch  of  flowers, 

which  turns  into  two  wings. 

17.  A  sprig  of  hazel,  with  nuts,  thrown  all  around  the 

quatrefoils  with  a  squirrel  in  centre,  apparently  at- 
tached to  the  tree  only  by  its  enormous  tail,  richly 
furrowed  into  hair,  and  nobly  sweeping. 

18.  Four  hares  fastened  together  by  the  ears,  galloping  in 

a  circle.  Mingled  with  these  grotesques  are  many 
sword  and  buckler  combats,  the  bucklers  being- 
round  and  conical  like  a  hat ;  I  thought  the  first  I 
noticed,  carried  by  a  man  at  full  gallop  on  horseback, 
had  been  a  small  umbrella. 

This  list  of  subjects  may  sufficiently  illustrate  the  feverish 
character  of  the  Northern  Energy  ;  but  influencing  the  treat- 
ment of  the  whole  there  is  also  the  Northern  love  of  what  is 
called  the  Grotesque,  a  feeling  which  I  find  myself,  for  the 
present,  quite  incapable  either  of  analysing  or  defining,  though 
we  all  have  a  distinct  idea  attached  to  the  word  :  I  shall  try, 
however,  in  the  next  volume. 

9.   WOODEN  CHURCHES  OF  THE  NORTH. 

I  cannot  pledge  myself  to  this  theory  of  the  origin  of  the 
vaulting  shaft,  but  the  reader  will  find  some  interesting  con- 
firmations of  it  in  Dahl's  work  on  the  wooden  churches  of  Nor- 
way. The  inside  view  of  the  church  of  Borgund  shows  the 
timber  construction  of  one  shaft  run  up  through  a  crossing- 
architrave,  and  continued  into  the  clerestory ;  while  the 
church  of  Urnes  is  in  the  exact  form  of  a  basilica  ;  but  the 
wail  above  the  arches  is  formed  of  planks,  with  a  strong  up- 
right above  each  capital.  The  passage  quoted  from  Stephen 
Eddy's  Life  of  Bishop  Wilfrid,  at  p.  86  of  Churton's  "  Early 
English  Church,"  gives  us  one  of  the  transformations  of  petri- 
factions of  the  wooden  Saxon  churches.  "  At  Ripon  he  built 
a  new  church  of  polished  stone,  with  columns  variously  orna- 
mented, and  porches."  Mr.  Churton  adds  :  "It  was  perhaps 
in  bad  imitation  of  the  marble  buildings  he  had  seen  in  Italy, 


APPENDIX, 


375 


that  he  washed  the  walls  of  this  original  York  Minster,  and 
made  them  'whiter  than  snow.'" 

10.  CHURCH  OF  ALEXANDRIA. 

The  very  cause  which  enabled  the  Venetians  to  possess 
themselves  of  the  body  of  St.  Mark,  was  the  destruction  of  the 
church  by  the  caliph  for  the  sake  of  its  marbles  :  the  Arabs  and 
Venetians,  though  bitter  enemies,  thus  building  on  the  same 
models ;  these  in  reverence  for  the  destroyed  church,  and 
those  with  the  very  pieces  of  it.  In  the  somewhat  prolix  ac- 
count of  the  matter  given  in  the  Notizie  Storiche  (above 
quoted)  the  main  points  are,  that  "il  Califa  de'  Saraceni,  per 
fabbricarsi  un  Palazzo  presse  di  Babilonia,  aveva  ordinato  che 
dalle  Chiese  d'  Cristiani  si  togliessero  i  piu  scelti  marmi 
and  that  the  Venetians,  "  videro  sotto  i  loro  occhi  flagellarsi 
crudelmente  un  Cristiano  per  aver  infranto  un  marmo."  I 
heartily  wish  that  the  same  kind  of  punishment  were  enforced 
to  this  day,  for  the  same  sin. 

11.  RENAISSANCE  LANDSCAPE. 

I  am  glad  here  to  re-assert  opinions  which  it  has  grieved 
me  to  be  suspected  of  having  changed.  The  calmer  tone  of 
the  second  volume  of  "Modern  Painters,"  as  compared  with 
the  first,  induced,  I  believe,  this  suspicion,  very  justifiably,  in 
the  minds  of  many  of  its  readers.  The  difference  resulted, 
however,  from  the  simple  fact,  that  the  first  was  written  in 
great  haste  and  indignation,  for  a  special  purpose  and  time  ; 
— the  second,  after  I  had  got  engaged,  almost  unawares,  in 
inquiries  which  could  not  be  hastily  nor  indignantly  pursued  ; 
my  opinions  remaining  then,  and  remaining  now,  altogether 
unchanged  on  the  subject  whifch  led  me  into  the  discussion. 
And  that  no  farther  doubt  of  them  may  be  entertained  by  any 
who  may  think  them  worth  questioning,  I  shall  here,  once  for 
all,  express  them  in  the  plainest  and  fewest  words  I  can.  I 
think  that  J.  M.  W.  Turner  is  not  only  the  greatest  (professed) 
landscape  painter  who  ever  lived,  but  that  he  has  in  him  as 
much  as  would  have  furnished  all  the  rest  with  such  power  asi 
they  had  ;  and  that  if  we  put  Nicolo  Poussin,  Salvator  and 


376 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


our  own  Gainsborough  out  of  the  group,  he  would  cut  up  inta 
Claudes,  Cuyps,  Buysdaels,  and  such  others,  by  uncounted 
bunches.  I  hope  this  is  plainly  and  strongly  enough  stated. 
And  farther,  I  like  his  later  pictures,  up  to  the  year  1845,  the 
best ;  and  believe  that  those  persons  who  only  like  his  early 
pictures  do  not,  in  fact,  like  him  at  all.  They  do  not  like  that 
which  is  essentially  his.  They  like  that  in  which  he  resem- 
bles other  men  ;  which  he  had  learned  from  Loutherbourg, 
Claude,  or  Wilson  ;  that  which  is  indeed  his  own,  they  do  not 
care  for.  Not  that  there  is  not  much  of  his  own  in  his  early 
works ;  they  are  all  invaluable  in  their  way ;  but  those  per- 
sons who  can  find  no  beauty  in  his  strangest  fantasy  on  the 
Academy  walls,  cannot  distinguish  the  peculiarly  Turneresque 
characters  of  the  earlier  pictures.  And,  therefore,  I  again 
state  here,  that  I  think  his  pictures  painted  between  the  years 
1830  and  1845  his  greatest ;  and  that  his  entire  power  is  best 
represented  by  such  pictures  as  the 
Temeraire,  the  Sun  of  Venice  going  to 
Sea,  and  others,  painted  exactly  at  the 
time  when  the  public  and  the  press 
were  together  loudest  in  abuse  of  him. 

I  desire,  however,  the  reader  to  ob- 
serve that  I  said,  above,  professed 
landscape  painters,  among  whom,  per- 
haps, I  should  hardly  have  put  Gains- 
borough. The  landscape  of  the  great 
figure  painters  is  often  majestic  in  the 
highest  degree,  and  Tintoret's  espe- 
cially shows  exactly  the  same  power 
and  feeling  as  Turner's.  If  with  Turner 
I  were  to  rank  the  historical  painters  as 
landscapists,  estimating  rather  the 
power  they  show,  than  the  actual  value  of  the  landscape  they 
produced,  I  should  class  those,  whose  landscapes  I  have 
studied,  in  some  such  order  as  this  at  the  side  of  the  page  : — 
associating  with  the  landscape  of  Perugino  that  of  Francia  and 
Angelico,  and  the  other  severe  painters  of  religious  subjects. 
I  have  put  Turner  and  Tintoret  side  bv  si^e.  not  knowing 


Turner.  Tintoret. 

Massaccio. 

John  Bellini. 

Albert  Durer. 

Giorgione. 

Paul  Veronese. 

Titian. 

Rubens. 

Correggio. 

Orcagna. 

Benozzo  Gozzoli. 

Giotto. 

Raffaelle. 

Perugino. 


APPENDIX. 


377 


which  is,  in  landscape,  the  greater ;  I  had  nearly  associated 
in  the  same  manner  the  noble  names  of  John  Bellini  and  Albert 
Durer  ;  but  Bellini  must  be  put  first,  for  his  profound  religious 
peace  yet  not  separated  from  the  other,  if  but  that  we  might 
remember  his  kindness  to  him  in  Venice  :  and  it  is  well  we 
should  take  note  of  it  here,  for  it  furnishes  us  with  a  most 
interesting  confirmation  of  what  was  said  in  the  text  respect- 
ing the  position  of  Bellini  as  the  last  of  the  religious  painters 
of  Venice.  The  following  passage  is  quoted  in  Jackson's 
"Essay  on  Wood-engraving,"  from  Albert  Durer's  Diary  : 

"I  have  many  good  friends  among  the  Italians  who  warn 
me  not  to  eat  or  drink  with  their  painters,  of  whom  several 
are  my  enemies,  and  copy  my  picture  in  the  church,  and 
others  of  mine,  wherever  they  can  find  them,  and  yet  they 
blame  them,  and  say  they  are  not  according  to  ancient  art,  and 
therefore  not  good.  Giovanni  Bellini,  however,  has  praised  me 
highly  to  several  gentlemen,  and  wishes  to  have  something  of 
my  doing  :  he  called  on  me  himself,  and  requested  that  I 
would  paint  a  picture  for  him,  for  which,  he  said,  he  would  pay 
me  well.  People  are  all  surprised  that  I  should  be  so  much 
thought  of  by  a  person  of  his  reputation  :  he  is  very  old,  but 
is  still  the  best  painter  of  them  all." 

A  choice  little  piece  of  description  this,  of  the  Benaissance 
painters,  side  by  side  with  the  good  old  Venetian,  who  was 
soon  to  leave  them  to  their  own  ways.  The  Renaissance  men 
are  seen  in  perfection,  envying,  stealing,  and  lying,  but  with- 
out wit  enough  to  lie  to  purpose. 

12.      ROMANIST  MODERN  ART. 

It  is  of  the  highest  importance,  in  these  days,  that  Roman- 
ism should  be  deprived  of  the  miserable  influence  which  its 
pomp  and  picturesqueness  have  given  it  over  the  weak  senti- 
mentalism  of  the  English  people  ;  I  call  it  a  miserable  influ- 
ence, for  of  all  motives  to  sympathy  with  the  Church  of  Rome, 
this  I  unhesitatingly  class  as  the  basest :  I  can,  in  some  meas- 
ure, respect  the  other  feelings  which  have  been  the  beginnings 
of  apostasy  ;  I  can  respect  the  desire  for  unity  which  would 


378 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


reclaim  the  Romanist  by  love,  and  the  distrust  of  his  own 
heart  which  subjects  the  proselyte  to  priestly  power  ;  I  say  I 
can  respect  these  feelings,  though  I  cannot  pardon  unprinci- 
pled submission  to  them,  nor  enough  wonder  at  the  infinite 
fatuity  of  the  unhappy  persons  whom  they  have  betrayed  : — 
Fatuity,  self-inflicted,  and  stubborn  in  resistance  to  God's 
Word  and  man's  reason  !— to  talk  of  the  authority  of  the 
Church,  as  if  the  Church  were  anything  else  than  the  whole 
company  of  Christian  men,  or  were  ever  spoken  of  in  Scripture* 
as  other  than  a  company  to  be  taught  and  fed,  not  to  teach 
and  feed. — Fatuity  !  to  talk  of  a  separation  of  Church  and 
State,  as  if  a  Christian  state,  and  every  officer  therein,  were 
not  necessarily  a  part  of  the  Church, f  and  as  if  any  state 
officer  could  do  his  duty  without  endeavoring  to  aid  and  pro- 
mote religion,  or  any  clerical  officer  do  his  duty  without  seek- 
ing for  such  aid  and  accepting  it : — Fatuity  !  to  seek  for  the 
unity  of  a  living  body  of  truth  and  trust  in  God,  with  a  dead 
body  of  lies  and  trust  in  wood,  and  thence  to  expect  anything 
else  than  plague,  and  consumption  by  worms  undying,  for 
both.  Blasphemy  as  wrell  as  fatuity  !  to  ask  for  any  better  inter- 
preter of  God's  Word  than  God,  or  to  expect  knowledge  of  it 
in  any  other  way  than  the  plainly  ordered  way :  if  any  man 
will  do  he  shall  know.  But  of  all  these  fatuities,  the  basest  is 
the  being  lured  into  the  Romanist  Church  by  the  glitter  of  it, 
like  larks  into  a  trap  by  broken  glass  ;  to  be  blown  into  a 
change  of  religion  by  the  whine  of  an  organ-pipe  ;  stitched 
into  a  new  creed  by  gold  threads  on  priests'  petticoats  ;  jan- 
gled into  a  change  of  conscience  by  the  chimes  of  a  belfry, 

*  Except  in  the  single  passage  1  'tell  it  unto  the  Church,"  which  is 
simply  the  extension  of  what  had  been  commanded  before,  i.e.,  tell  the 
fault  first  " between  thee  and  him,"  then  taking  "  with  thee  one  or  two 
more,"  then,  to  all  Christian  men  capable  of  hearing  the  cause  :  if  he 
-refuse  to  hear  their  common  voice,  "  let  him  be  unto  thee  as  a  heathen 
man  and  publican  :  if  (But  consider  how  Christ  treated  both.  ) 

f  One  or  two  remarks  on  this  subject,  some  of  which  I  had  intended 
to  have  inserted  here,  and  others  in  Appendix  5,  I  have  arranged  in 
more  consistent  order,  and  published  in  a  separate  pamphlet,  "Notes  on 
the  Construction  of  Sheep-folds,"  for  the  convenience  of  readers  inter* 
ested  in  other  architecture  than  that  of  Venetian  palaces. 


APPENDIX. 


379 


I  know  nothing  in  the  shape  of  error  so  dark  as  this,  no 
imbecility  so  absolute,  no  treachery  so  contemptible.  I  had 
hardly  believed  that  it  was  a  thing  possible,  though  vague  stories 
had  been  told  me  of  the  effect,  on  some  minds,  of  mere  scarlet 
and  candles,  until  I  came  on  this  passage  in  Pugin's  "  Kemarks 
on  articles  in  the  Rambler"  : — 

"  Those  who  have  lived  in  want  and  privation  are  the  best 
qualified  to  appreciate  the  blessinge  of  plenty  ;  thus,  those 
who  have  been  devout  and  sincere  members  of  the  separated 
portion  of  the  English  Church  ;  who  have  prayed,  and  hoped, 
and  loved,  through  all  the  poverty  of  the  maimed  rites  which 
it  has  retained — to  them  does  the  realisation  of  all  their  long- 
ing desires  appear  truly  ravishing.  *  *  *  Oh  !  then,  what 
delight !  what  joy  unspeakable  !  when  one  of  the  solemn  piles 
is  presented  to  them,  in  all  its  pristine  life  and  glory  ! — the 
stoups  are  filled  to  the  brim ;  the  rood  is  raised  on  high  ;  the 
screen  glows  with  sacred  imagery  and  rich  device  ;  the  niches 
are  filled ;  the  altar  is  replaced,  sustained  by  sculptured  shafts, 
the  relics  of  the  saints  repose  beneath,  the  body  of  Our  Lord 
is  enshrined  on  its  consecrated  stone  ;  the  lamps  of  the  sanc- 
tuary burn  bright ;  the  saintly  portraitures  in  the  glass  win- 
dows  shine  all  gloriously  :  and  the  albs  hang  in  the  oaken 
ambries,  and  the  cope  chests  are  filled  with  orphreyed  baude- 
kins  ;  and  pix  and  pax,  and  chrismatory  are  there,  and  thuri- 
ble, and  cross." 

One  might  have  put  this  man  under  a  pix,  and  left  him,  one 
should  have  thought ;  but  he  has  been  brought  forward,  and 
partly  received,  as  an  example  of  the  effect  of  ceremonial 
splendor  on  the  mind  of  a  great  architect.  It  is  very  neces- 
sary, therefore,  that  all  those  who  have  felt  sorrow  at  this 
should  know  at  once  that  he  is  not  a  great  architect,  but  one 
of  the  smallest  possible  or  conceivable  architects  ;  and  that 
by  his  own  account  and  setting  forth  of  himself.  Hear 
him : — 

'  ■  I  believe,  as  regards  architecture,  few  men  have  been  so 
unfortunate  as  myself.  I  have  passed  my  life  in  thinking  of 
fine  things,  studying  fine  things;  designing  fine  things,  and 
realising  very  poor  ones.    I  have  never  had  the  chance  of  pro- 


380 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


ducing  a  single  fine  ecclesiastical  building,  except  my  own 
church,  where  I  am  both  paymaster  and  architect ;  but  every- 
thing else,  either  for  want  of  adequate  funds  or  injudicious  in- 
terference and  control,  or  some  other  contingency,  is  more  or 
less  a  failure.       *       *  * 

"  St.  George's  was  spoilt  by  the  very  instructions  laid  down 
by  the  committee,  that  it  was  to  hold  3000  people  on  the  floor 
at  a  limited  price  ;  in  consequence,  height,  proportion,  every- 
thing, wTas  sacrificed  to  meet  these  conditions.  Nottingham 
was  spoilt  by  the  style  being  restricted  to  lancet,— a  period 
well  suited  to  a  Cistercian  abbey  in  a  secluded  vale,  but  very 
unsuitable  for  the  centre  of  a  crowded  town.       *       t  * 

"  Kirkham  was  spoilt  through  several  hundred  pounds  being 
reduced  on  the  original  estimate  ;  to  effect  this,  which  was  a 
great  sum  in  proportion  to  the  entire  cost,  the  area  of  the 
church  was  contracted,  the  walls  lowered,  tower  and  spire  re- 
duced, the  thickness  of  walls  diminished,  and  stone  arches 
omitted."  (Remarks,  &c,  by  A.  WelbyPugin  :  Dolman,  1850.) 

Is  that  so  ?  Phidias  can  niche  himself  into  the  corner  of  a 
pediment,  and  Baffaelle  expatiate  within  the  circumference  of 
a  clay  platter  ;  but  Pugin  is  inexpressible  in  less  than  a  cathe- 
dral ?  Let  his  ineffableness  be  assured  of  this,  once  for  all, 
that  no  difficulty  or  restraint  ever  happened  to  a  man  of  real 
power,  but  his  power  was  the  more  manifested  in  the  contend- 
ing with,  or  conquering  it ;  and  that  there  is  no  field  so  small, 
no  cranny  so  contracted,  but  that  a  great  spirit  can  house  and 
manifest  itself  therein.  The  thunder  that  smites  the  Alp  into 
dust,  can  gather  itself  into  the  width  of  a  golden  wire.  What- 
ever greatness  there  was  in  you,  had  it  been  Buonarroti's 
own,  you  had  room  enough  for  it  in  a  single  niche  :  you 
might  have  put  the  whole  power  of  it  into  two  feet  cube  of 
Caen  stone.  Si  Georges  was  not  high  enough  for  want  of 
money  ?  But  was  it  want  of  money  that  made  you  put  that 
blunt,  overloaded,  laborious  ogee  door  into  the  side  of  it  ? 
Was  it  for  lack  of  funds  that  you  sunk  the  tracery  of  the  par- 
apet in  its  clumsy  zigzags  ?  Was  it  in  parsimony  that  you 
buried  its  paltry  pinnacles  in  that  eruption  of  diseased 
crockets  ?  or  in  pecuniary  embarrassment  that  you  set  up  the 


APPENDIX. 


381 


belfry  foolscaps,  with  the  mimicry  of  dormer  windows,  which 
nobody  can  ever  reach  nor  look  out  of  ?  Not  so,  but  in  mere 
incapability  of  better  things. 

I  am  sorry  to  have  to  speak  thus  of  any  living  architect ; 
and  there  is  much  in  this  man,  if  he  were  rightly  estimated, 
which  one  might  both  regard  and  profit  by.  He  has  a  most 
sincere  love  for  his  profession,  a  heartily  honest  enthusiasm  for 
pixes  and  piscinas  ;  and  though  he  will  never  design  so  much 
as  a  pix  or  a  piscina  thoroughly  well,  yet  better  than  most  of 
the  experimental  architects  of  the  day.  Employ  him  by  all 
means,  but  on  small  wbrfc  Expect  no  cathedrals  from  him  ; 
but  no  one,  at  present,  can  design  a  better  finial.  That  is  an  ex- 
ceedingly beautiful  one  over  the  western  door  of  St.  George's  ; 
and  there  is  some  spirited  impishness  and  switching  of  tails  in 
the  supporting  figures  at  the  imposts.  Only  do  not  allow  his 
good  designing  of  finials  to  be  employed  as  an  evidence  in 
matters  of  divinity,  nor  thence  deduce  the  incompatibility  of 
Protestantism  and  art.  I  should  have  said  all  that  I  have  said 
above,  of  artistical  aj:>ostasy,  if  Giotto  had  been  now  living  in 
Florence,  and  if  art  were  still  doing  all  that  it  did  once  for 
Rome.  But  the  grossness  of  the  error  becomes  incomprehen- 
sible as  well  as  unpardonable,  when  wre  look  to  what  level  of 
degradation  the  human  intellect  has  sunk  at  this  instant  in 
Italy.  So  far  from  Romanism  now  producing  anything  greater 
in  art,  it  cannot  even  preserve  what  has  been  given  to  its  keep- 
ing. I  know  no  abuses  of  precious  inheritance  half  so  grievous, 
as  the  abuse  of  all  that  is  best  in  art  wherever  the  Romanist 
priesthood  gets  possession  of  it.  It  amounts  to  absolute  in- 
fatuation. The  noblest  pieces  of  mediaeval  sculpture  in  North 
Italy,  the  two  griffins  at  the  central  (west)  door  of  the  cathe- 
dral of  Verona,  were  daily  permitted  to  be  brought  into  ser- 
vice, when  I  was  there  in  the  autumn  of  1849,  by  a  washer- 
woman living  in  the  Piazza,  who  tied  her  clothes-lines  to  their 
beaks :  and  the  shafts  of  St.  Mark's  at  Venice  were  used  by 
a  salesman  of  common- caricatures  to  fasten  his  prints  upon 
(Compare  Appendix  25)  ;  and  this  in  the  face  of  the  contiim 
ally  passing  priests  :  while  the  quantity  of  noble  art  annually 
destroyed  in  altarpieces  by  candle-droppings,  or  perishing  by 


382 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


pure  brutality  of  neglect,  passes  all  estimate.  I  do  not  know, 
as  I  have  repeatedly  stated,  how  far  the  splendor  of  architect- 
ure, or  other  art,  is  compatible  with  the  honesty  and  useful- 
ness of  religious  service.  The  longer  I  live,  the  more  I  incline 
to  severe  judgment  in  this  matter,  and  the  less  I  can  trust  the 
sentiments  excited  by  painted  glass  and  colored  tiles.  But  if 
there  be  indeed  value  in  such  things,  our  plain  duty  is  to  direct 
our  strength  agaiust  the  superstition  which  has  dishonored 
them  ;  there  are  thousands  who  might  possibly  be  benefited 
by  them,  to  whom  they  are  now  merely  an  offence,  owing  to 
their  association  with  idolatrous  ceremonies.  I  have  but  this 
exhortation  for  all  who  love  them, — not  to  regulate  their 
creeds  by  their  taste  in  colors,  but  to  hold  calmly  to  the  right, 
at  whatever  present  cost  to  their  imaginative  enjoyment ;  sure 
that  they  will  one  day  find  in  heavenly  truth  a  brighter  charm 
than  in  earthly  imagery,  and  striving  to  gather  stones  for  the 
eternal  building,  whose  walls  shall  be  salvation,  and  whose 
gates  shall  be  praise. 

13.   MR.  FERGUSSOIsS  SYSTEM. 

The  reader  may  at  first  suppose  this  division  of  the  attri- 
butes of  buildings  into  action,  voice,  and  beauty,  to  be  the 
same  division  as  Mr.  Fergusson's,  now  well  known,  of  their 
merits,  into  technic,  aesthetic  and  phonetic. 

But  there  is  no  connection  between  the  two  systems  ;  mine, 
indeed,  does  not  profess  to  be  a  system,  it  is  a  mere  arrange- 
ment of  my  subject,  for  the  sake  of  order  and  convenience  in 
its  treatment :  but,  as  far  as  it  goes,  it  differs  altogether  from 
Mr.  Fergusson's  in  these  two  following  respects  : — 

The  action  of  a  building,  that  is  to  say  its  standing  or  con- 
sistence, depends  on  its  good  construction  ;  and  the  first  part 
of  the  foregoing  volume  has  been  entirely  occupied  with  the 
consideration  of  the  constructive  merit  of  buildings  ;  but  con- 
struction is  not  their  only  technical  merit.  There  is  as  much 
of  technical  merit  in  their  expression,  or  in  their  beauty,  as  in 
their  construction.  There  is  no  more  mechanical  or  .-technical 
admirableness  in  the  stroke  of  the  painter  who  covers  them 


APPENDIX. 


383 


with  fresco,  than  in  the  dexterity  of  the  mason  who  cements 
their  stones :  there  is  just  as  much  of  what  is  technical  in 
their  beauty,  therefore,  as  in  their  construction  ;  and,  on  the 
other  hand,  there  is  often  just  as  much  intellect  shown  in 
their  construction  as  there  is  in  either  their  expression  or 
decoration.  Now  Mr.  Fergusson  means  by  his  "  Phonetic  " 
division,  whatever  expresses  intellect :  my  constructive  divis- 
ion, therefore,  includes  part  of  his  phonetic  :  and  my  ex- 
pressive and  decorative  divisions  include  part  of  his  technical. 

Secondly,  Mr.  Fergusson  tries  to  make  the  same  divisions 
fit  the  subjects  of  art,  and  art  itself ;  and  therefore  talks  of 
technic,  aesthetic,  and  phonetic,  arts,  (or,  translating  the  Greek,) 
of  artful  arts,  sensitive  arts,  and  talkative  arts  ;  but  I  have 
nothing  to  do  with  any  division  of  the  arts,  I  have  to  deal  only 
with  the  merits  of  buildings.  As,  however,  I  have  been  led 
into  reference  to  Mr.  Fergusson's  system,  I  would  fain  say  a 
word  or  two  to  effect  Mr.  Fergusson's  extrication  from  it.  I 
hope  to  find  in  him  a  noble  ally,  ready  to  join  with  me  in  war 
upon  affectation,  falsehood,  and  prejudice,  of  every  kind  ;  I 
have  derived  much  instruction  from  his  most  interesting  work, 
and  I  hope  for  much  more  from  its  continuation  ;  but  he  must 
disentangle  himself  from  his  system,  or  he  will  be  strangled 
by  it ;  never  was  anything  so  ingeniously  and  hopelessly  wrong 
throughout ;  the  whole  of  it  is  founded  on  a  confusion  of  the 
instruments  of  man  with  his  capacities. 

Mr.  Fergusson  would  have  us  take— 

"First,  man's  muscular  action  or  power."  (Technics.) 

"  Secondly,  those  developments  of  sense  by  which  he  does  !  ! 
as  much  as  by  his  muscles."  (Esthetics.) 

"Lastly,  his  intellect,  or  to  confine  this  more  correctly  to  its 
external  action,  his  power  of  speech  !  I  !  "    (Phonetics. ) 

Granting  this  division  of  humanity  correct,  or  sufficient,  the 
writer  then  most  curiously  supposes  that  he  may  arrange  the 
arts  as  if  there  were  some  belonging  to  each  division  of  man, — 
never  observing  that  every  art  must  be  governed  by,  and  ad- 
dressed to,  one  division,  and  executed  by  another  ;  executed 
by  the  muscular,  addressed  to  the  sensitive  or  intellectual ; 
and  that,  to  be  an  art  at  all,  it  must  have  in  it  work  of  the 


384 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


one,  and  guidance  from  the  other.  If,  by  any  lucky  accident, 
he  had  been  led  to  arrange  the  arts,  either  by  their  objects, 
and  the  things  to  which  they  are  addressed,  or  by  their  means, 
and  the  things  by  which  they  are  executed,  he  would  have 
discovered  his  mistake  in  an  instant.    As  thus  : — 

These  arts  are  addressed  to  the, — Muscles ! ! 

Senses, 
Intellect ; 
or  executed  by, — Muscles, 
Senses !  \ 
Intellect. 

Indeed  it  is  true  that  some  of  the  arts  are  in  a  sort  addressed 
to  the  muscles,  surgery  for  instance  ;  but  this  is  not  among 
Mr  Fergusson's  technic,  but  his  politic,  arts !  and  all  the  arts 
may,  in  a  sort,  be  said  to  be  performed  by  the  senses,  as  the 
senses  guide  both  muscles  and  intellect  in  their  work  :  but 
they  guide  them  as  they  receive  information,  or  are  standards 
of  accuracy,  but  not  as  in  themselves  capable  of  action.  Mr. 
Fergusson  is,  I  believe,  the  first  person  who  has  told  us  oi 
senses  that  act  or  do,  they  having  been  hitherto  supposed  only 
to  sustain  or  perceive.  The  weight  of  error,  however,  rests 
just  as  much  in  the  original  division  of  man,  as  in  the  en- 
deavor to  fit  the  arts  to  it.  The  slight  omission  of  the  soul 
makes  a  considerable  difference  when  it  begins  to  influence 
the  final  results  of  the  arrangement. 

Mr.  Fergusson  calls  morals  and  religion  "  Politick  arts  "  (as 
if  religion  were  an  art  at  all !  or  as  if  both  were  not  as  neces- 
sary to  individuals  as  to  societies) ;  and  therefore,  forming 
these  into  a  body  of  arts  by  themselves,  leaves  the  best  of  the 
arts  to  do  without  the  soul  and  the  moral  feeling  as  best  they 
ma}r.  Hence  "  expression,"  or  "phonetics,"  is  of  intellect 
only  (as  if  men  never  expressed  their  feelings  !)  ;  and  then, 
strangest  and  worst  of  all,  intellect  is  entirely  resolved  into 
talking  !  There  can  be  no  intellect  but  it  must  talk,  and  all 
talking  must  be  intellectual.  I  believe  people  do  sometimes 
talk  without  understanding  ;  and  I  think  the  world  would 
fare  ill  if  they  never  understood  without  talking.    The  Intel- 


APPEND  IX. 


383 


led  is  an  entirely  silent  faculty,  and  has  nothing  to  do  with 
parts  of  speech  any  more  than  the  moral  part  has.  A  man 
may  feel  and  know  things  without  expressing  either  the  feel- 
ing or  knowledge  ;  and  the  talking  is  a  muscular  mode  of 
communicating  the  workings  of  the  intellect  or  heart : — mus- 
cular, whether  it  be  by  tongue  or  by  sign,  or  by  carving  or 
writing,  or  by  expression  of  feature  ;  so  that  to  divide  a  man 
into  muscular  and  talking  parts,  is  to  divide  him  into  body  in 
general,  and  tongue  in  particular,  the  endless  confusion  re- 
sulting from  which  arrangement  is  only  less  marvellous  in 
itself,  than  the  resolution  with  which  Mr.  Fergusson  has 
worked  through  it,  and  in  spite  of  it,  up  to  some  very  interest- 
ing and  suggestive  truths  ;  although  starting  with  a  division 
of  humanity  which  does  not  in  the  least  raise  it  above  the 
brute,  for  a  rattlesnake  has  his  muscular,  aesthetic,  and  talk- 
ing part  as  much  as  man,  only  he  talks  with  his  tail,  and  says, 
"  I  am  angry  with  you,  and  should  like  to  bite  you,"  more  la- 
conically and  effectively  than  any  phonetic  biped  could,  were 
he  so  minded.  And,  in  fact,  the  real  difference  between  the 
brute  and  man  is  not  so  much  that  the  one  has  fewer  means  of 
expression  than  the  other,  as  that  it  has  fewer  thoughts  to  ex- 
press, and  that  we  do  not  understand  its  expressions.  Ani- 
mals can  talk  to  one  another  intelligibly  enough  when  they 
have  anything  to  say,  and  their  captains  have  words  of  com- 
mand just  as  clear  as  ours,  and  better  obeyed.  We  have  in- 
deed, in  watching  the  efforts  of  an  intelligent  animal  to  talk 
to  a  human  being,  a  melancholy  sense  of  its  dumbness  ;  but 
the  fault  is  still  in  its  intelligence,  more  than  in  its  tongue.  It 
has  not  wit  enough  to  systematise  its  cries  or  signs,  and  form 
them  into  language. 

But  there  is  no  end  to  the  fallacies  and  confusions  of  Mr. 
Fergusson's  arrangement.  It  is  a  perfect  entanglement  of 
gun-cotton,  and  explodes  into  vacuity  wherever  one  holds  a 
light  to  it.  I  shall  leave  him  to  do  so  with  the  rest  of  it  for 
himself,  and  should  perhaps  have  left  it  to  his  own  handling 
altogether,  but  for  the  intern perateness  of  the  spirit  with 
which  he  has  spoken  on  a  subject  perhaps  of  all  others  de- 
manding gentleness  and  caution.  No  man  could  more  ear- 
Vol.  J. -25 


386 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


nestly  have  desired  the  changes  lately  introduced  into  the  sy& 
tern  of  the  University  of  Oxford  than  I  did  myself  ;  no  man 
can  be  more  deeply  sensible  than  I  of  grievous  failures  in  the 
practical  working  even  of  the  present  system  :  but  I  believe 
that  these  failures  may  be  almost  without  exception  traced  to 
one  source,  the  want  of  evangelical,  and  the  excess  of  rubrical 
religion  among  the  tutors  ;  together  with  such  rustiness  and 
stiffness  as  necessarily  attend  the  continual  operation  of  any 
intellectual  machine.  The  fault  is,  at  any  rate,  far  less  in  the 
system  than  in  the  imperfection  of  its  administration  ;  and 
had  it  been  otherwise,  the  terms  in  which  Mr.  Fergusson 
speaks  of  it  are  hardly  decorous  in  one  who  can  but  be  imper- 
fectly acquainted  with  its  working.  They  are  sufficiently  an- 
swered by  the  structure  of  the  essay  in  which  they  occur  ;  for 
if  the  high  powers  of  mind  which  its  author  possesses  had 
been  subjected  to  the  discipline  of  the  schools,  he  could  not 
have  wasted  his  time  on  the  development  of  a  system  which 
their  simplest  formulae  of  logic  would  have  shown  him  to  be 
untenable. 

Mr.  Fergusson  will,  however,  find  it  easier  to  overthrow  his 
system  than  to  replace  it.  Every  man  of  science  knows  the 
difficulty  of  arranging  a  reasonable  system  of  classification,  in 
any  subject,  by  any  one  group  of  characters  ;  and  that  the 
best  classifications  are,  in  many  of  their  branches,  convenient 
rather  than  reasonable :  so  that,  to  any  person  who  is  really 
master  of  his  subject,  many  different  modes  of  classification 
will  occur  at  different  times  ;  one  of  which  he  will  use  rather 
than  another,  according  to  the  point  which  he  has  to  investi- 
gate. I  need  only  instance  the  three  arrangements  of  miner- 
als, by  their  external  characters,  and  their  positive  or  negative 
bases,  of  which  the  first  is  the  most  useful,  the  second  the 
most  natural,  the  third  the  most  simple  ;  and  all  in  several 
ways  unsatisfactory. 

But  when  the  subject  becomes  one  which  no  single  mind 
can  grasp,  and  which  embraces  the  whole  range  of  human 
occupation  and  enquiry,  the  difficulties  become  as  great,  and 
the  methods  as  various,  as  the  uses  to  which  the  classification 
might  be  put ;  and  Mr.  Fergusson  has  entirely  forgotten  to 


APPENDIX, 


387 


inform  us  what  is  the  object  to  which  his  arrangements  are 
addressed.  For  observe  :  there  is  one  kind  of  arrangement 
which  is  based  on  the  rational  connection  of  the  sciences  or 
arts  with  one  another  ;  an  arrangement  which  maps  them  out 
like  the  rivers  of  some  great  country,  and  marks  the  points  of 
their  junction,  and  the  direction  and  force  of  their  united 
currents  ;  and  this  without  assigning  to  any  one  of  them  a 
superiority  above  another,  but  considering  them  all  as  neces- 
sary members  of  the  noble  unity  of  human  science  and  effort. 
There  is  another  kind  of  classification  which  contemplates  the 
order  of  succession  in  which  they  might  most  usefully  be  pre- 
sented to  a  single  mind,  so  that  the  given  mind  should  obtain 
the  most  effective  and  available  knowledge  of  them  all :  and, 
finally,  the  most  usual  classification  contemplates  the  powers 
of  mind  which  they  each  require  for  their  pursuit,  the  objects 
to  which  they  are  addressed,  or  with  which  they  are  con- 
cerned ;  and  assigns  to  each  of  them  a  rank  superior  or  in- 
ferior, according  to  the  nobility  of  the  powers  they  require, 
or  the  grandeur  of  the  subjects  they  contemplate. 

Now,  not  only  would  it  be  necessary  to  adopt  a  different 
classification  with  respect  to  each  of  these  great  intentions, 
but  it  might  be  found  so  even  to  vary  the  order  of  the  suc- 
cession of  sciences  in  the  case  of  every  several  mind  to  which 
they  were  addressed  ;  and  that  their  rank  would  also  vary 
with  the  power  and  specific  character  of  the  mind  engaged 
upon  them.  I  once  heard  a  very  profound  mathematician 
remonstrate  against  the  impropriety  of  Wordsworth's  receiv- 
ing a  pension  from  government,  on  the  ground  that  he  was 
"  only  a  poet."  If  the  study  of  mathematics  had  always  this 
narrowing  effect  upon  the  sympathies,  the  science  itself  would 
need  to  be  deprived  of  the  rank  usually  assigned  to  it ;  and 
there  could  be  no  doubt  that,  in  the  effect  it  had  on  the  mind 
of  this  man,  and  of  such  others,  it  was  a  very  contemptible 
science  indeed.  Hence,  in  estimating  the  real  rank  of  any 
art  or  science,  it  is  necessary  for  us  to  conceive  it  as  it  would 
be  grasped  by  minds  of  every  order.  There  are  some  arts 
and  sciences  which  we  underrate,  because  no  one  has  risen  to 
show  us  with  what  majesty  they  may  be  invested  ;  and  others 


3S8 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


which  we  overrate,  because  we  are  blinded  to  their  general 
meanness  by  the  magnificence  which  some  one  man  has 
thrown  around  them :  thus,  philology,  evidently  the  most, 
contemptible  of  all  the  sciences,  has  been  raised  to  unjust 
dignity  by  Johnson.*  And  the  subject  is  farther  compli- 
cated by  the  question  of  usefulness  ;  for  many  of  the  arts  and 
sciences  require  considerable  intellectual  power  for  their  pur- 
suit, and  yet  become  contemptible  by  the  slightness  o..  what 
they  accomplish :  metaphysics,  for  instance,  exercising  intel- 
ligence of  a  high  order,  yet  useless  to  the  mass  of  mankind, 
and,  to  its  own  masters,  dangerous.  Yet,  as  it  has  become 
so  by  the  want  of  the  true  intelligence  which  its  inquiries 
need,  and  by  substitution  of  vain  subtleties  in  its  stead,  it 
may  in  future  vindicate  for  itself  a  higher  rank  than  a  man  of 
common  sense  usually  concedes  to  it. 

Nevertheless,  the  mere  attempt  at  arrangement  must  be 
useful,  even  where  it  does  nothing  more  than  develop  difficul- 
ties. Perhaps  the  greatest  fault  of  men  of  learning  is  their 
so  often  supposing  all  other  branches  of  science  dependent 
upon  or  inferior  to  their  own  best  beloved  branch  ;  and  the 
greatest  deficiency  of  men  comparatively  unlearned,  their 
want  of  perception  of  the  connection  of  the  branches  with 
each  other.  He  who  holds  the  tree  only  by  the  extremities, 
can  perceive  nothing  but  the  separation  of  its  sprays.  It 
must  always  be  desirable  to  prove  to  those  the  equality  of 
rank,  to  these  the  closeness  of  sequence,  of  what  they  had 
falsely  supposed  subordinate  or  separate.  And,  after  such 
candid  admission  of  the  co-equal  dignity  of  the  truly  noble 
arts  and  sciences,  we  may  be  enabled  more  justly  to  estimate 
the  inferiority  of  those  which  indeed  seem  f  .tended  for  the 
occupation  of  inferior  powers  and  narrow  r  capacities.  In 
Appendix  14,  following,  some  suggestions  will  be  found  as 
to  the  principles  on  which  classification  might  be  based  ;  ,but 
the  arrangement  of  all  the  arts  is  certainly  not  a  work  which 

*  Not,  however,  by  Johnson's  testimony:  Vide  Adventurer,  No.  39. 
u  Such  operations  as  required  neither  celerity  nor  strength, — the  low 
drudgery  of  collating  copies,  comparing  authorities,  digesting  dictiotia* 
vies,  or  accumulating  compilations." 


APPENDIX. 


389 


could  with  discretion  be  attempted  in  the  Appendix  to  an 
essay  on  a  branch  of  one  of  them. 

14.   DIVISIONS  OF  HUMANITY. 

The  reader  will  probably  understand  this  part  of  the  sub- 
ject better  if  he  will  take  the  trouble  briefly  to  consider  the 
actions  of  the  mind  and  body  of  man  in  the  sciences  and  arts, 
which  give  these  latter  the  relations  of  rank  usually  attrib- 
uted to  them. 

It  was  above  observed  (Appendix  13)  that  the  arts  were 
generally  ranked  according  to  the  nobility  of  the  powers  they 
require,  that  is  to  say,  the  quantity  of  the  being  of  man  which 
c!iey  engaged  or  addressed.  Now  their  rank  is  not  a  very 
important  matter  as  regards  each  other,  fcr  there  are  few  dis- 
putes more  futile  than  that  concerning  the  respective  dignity 
of  arts,  all  of  which  are  necessary  and  honorable.  But  it  is  a 
very  important  matter  as  regards  themselves  ;  very  important 
whether  they  are  practised  with  the  devotion  and  regarded 
with  the  respect  which  are  necessary  or  due  to  their  perfec- 
tion. It  does  not  at  all  matter  whether  architecture  or  sculpt- 
ure be  the  nobler  art ;  but  it  matters  much  whether  the 
thought  is  bestowed  upon  buildings,  or  the  feeling  is  ex- 
pressed in  statues,  which  make  either  deserving  of  our  admi- 
ration. It  is  foolish  and  insolent  to  imagine  that  the  art 
which  we  ourselves  practise  is  greater  than  any  other  ;  but  it 
is  wise  to  take  care  that  in  our  own  hands  it  is  as  noble  as  we 
can  make  it.  Let  us  take  some  notice,  therefore,  in  what  de- 
grees the  faculties  of  man  maybe  engaged  in  his  several  arts  : 
we  may  consider  the  entire  man  as  made  up  of  body,  soul, 
and  intellect  (Lord  Lindsay,  meaning  the  same  thing,  says  in- 
accurately— sense,  intellect,  and  spirit — forgetting  that  there 
is  a  moral  sense  as  well  as  a  bodily  sense,  and  a  spiritual 
body  as  well  as  a  natural  body,  and  so  gets  into  some  awk- 
ward confusion,  though  right  in  the  main  points).  Then, 
taking  the  word  soul  as  a  short  expression  of  the  moral  and 
responsible  part  of  being,  each  of  these  three  parts  has  a  pas- 
sive and  active  power.    The  body  has  senses  and  muscles  0 


890 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


the  soul,  feeling  and  resolution  ;  the  intellect,  understanding 
and  imagination.  The  scheme  may  be  put  into  tabular  form, 
thus  : — 

Passive  or  Receptive  Part.    Active  or  Motive  Part. 
Body      -    -    -    Senses.  Muscles. 
Soul       -    -    -    Feeling.  Resolution. 
Intellect  -    -    -    Understanding.  Imagination. 


In  this  scheme  I  consider  memory  a  part  of  understanding, 
and  conscience  I  leave  out,  as  being  the  voice  of  God  in  the 
heart,  inseparable  from  the  system,  yet  not  an  essential  part 
of  it.  The  sense  of  beauty  I  consider  a  mixture  of  the  Senses 
of  the  body  and  soul. 

Now  all  these  parts  of  the  human  system  have  a  reciprocal 
action  on  one  another,  so  that  the  true  perfection  of  any  of 
them  is  not  possible  without  some  relative  perfection  of  the 
others,  and  yet  any  one  of  the  parts  of  the  system  may  be 
brought  into  a  morbid  development,  inconsistent  with  the 
perfection  of  the  others.  Thus,  in  a  healthy  state,  the  acute- 
ness  of  the  senses  quickens  that  of  the  feelings,  and  these  lat- 
ter quicken  the  understanding,  and  then  all  the  three  quicken 
the  imagination,  and  then  all  the  four  strengthen  the  resolu- 
tion ;  while  yet  there  is  a  danger,  on  the  other  hand,  that  the 
encouraged  and  morbid  feeling  may  weaken  or  bias  the  un- 
derstanding, or  that  the  over  shrewd  and  keen  understanding 
may  shorten  the  imagination,  or  that  the  understanding  and 
imagination  together  may  take  place  of,  or  undermine,  the 
resolution,  as  in  Hamlet.  So  in  the  mere  bodily  frame  there 
is  a  delightful  perfection  of  the  senses,  consistent  with  the  ut- 
most health  of  the  muscular  system,  as  in  the  quick  sight  and 
hearing  of  an  active  savage  :  another  false  delicacy  of  the 
senses,  in  the  Sybarite,  consequent  on  their  over  indulgence, 
until  the  doubled  rose-leaf  is  painful ;  and  this  inconsistent 
with  muscular  perfection.  Again  ;  there  is  a  perfection  of 
muscular  action  consistent  with  exquisite  sense,  as  in  that  of 
the  fingers  of  a  musician  or  of  a  painter,  in  which  the  muscle? 
are  guided  by  the  slightest  feeling  of  the  strings,  or  of  the 


APPENDIX. 


391 


pencil :  another  perfection  of  muscular  action  inconsistent 
with  acuteness  of  sense,  as  in  the  effort  of  battle,  in  which  a 
soldier  does  not  perceive  his  wounds.  So  that  it  is  never  so 
much  the  question,  what  is  the  solitary  perfection  of  a  given 
part  of  the  man,  as  what  is  its  balanced  perfection  in  relation 
to  the  whole  of  him  :  and  again,  the  perfection  of  any  single 
power  is  not  merely  to  be  valued  by  the  mere  rank  of  the 
power  itself,  but  by  the  harmony  which  it  indicates  among 
the  other  powers.  Thus,  for  instance,  in  an  archer's  glance 
along  his  arrow,  or  a  hunter's  raising  of  his  rifle,  there  is  a 
certain  perfection  of  sense  and  finger  which  is  the  result  of 
mere  practice,  of  a  simple  bodily  perfection  ;  but  there  is  a 
farther  value  in  the  habit  which  results  from  the  resolution 
and  intellect  necessary  to  the  forming  of  it :  in  the  hunter's 
raising  of  his  rifle  there  is  a  quietness  implying  far  more  than 
mere  practice, — implying  courage,  and  habitual  meeting  of 
danger,  and  presence  of  mind,  and  many  other  such  noble 
characters.  So  also  in  a  musician's  way  of  laying  finger  on 
his  instrument,  or  a  painter's  handling  of  his  pencil,  there  are 
many  qualities  expressive  of  the  special  sensibilities  of  each, 
operating  on  the  production  of  the  habit,  besides  the  sensi- 
bility operating  at  the  moment  of  action.  So  that  there  are 
three  distinct  stages  of  merit  in  what  is  commonly  called 
mere  bodily  dexterity  :  the  first,  the  dexterity  given  by  prac- 
tice, called  command  of  tools  or  of  weapons ;  the  second  stage, 
the  dexterity  or  grace  given  by  character,  as  the  gentleness  of 
hand  proceeding  from  modesty  or  tenderness  of  spirit,  and  the 
steadiness  of  it  resulting  from  habitual  patience  coupled  with 
decision,  and  the  thousand  other  characters  partially  discern! 
ble,  even  in  a  man's  writing,  much  more  in  his  general  handi 
work  ;  and,  thirdly,  there  is  the  perfection  of  action  produced 
by  the  operation  of  present  strength,  feeling,  or  intelligence  on 
instruments  thus  previously  perfected,  as  the  handling  of  a 
great  painter  is  rendered  more  beautiful  by  his  immediate 
care  and  feeling  and  love  of  his  subject,  or  knowledge  of  it, 
lind  as  physical  strength  is  increased  by  strength  of  will  and 
greatness  of  heart.  Imagine,  for  instance,  the  difference  in 
manner  of  fighting,  and  in  actual  muscular  strength  and  en« 


892 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


durance,  between  a  common  soldier,  and  a  man  in  the  circum 
stances  of  the  Horatii,  or  of  the  temper  of  Leonidas. 

Mere  physical  skill,  therefore,  the  mere  perfection  and  powei 
of  the  body  as  an  instrument,  is  manifested  in  three  stages : 

First,  Bodily  power  by  practice  ; 
Secondly,  Bodily  power  by  moral  habit ; 
Thirdly,  Bodily  power  by  immediate  energy  ; 

and  the  arts  will  be  greater  or  less,  cseteris  paribus,  according 
to  the  degrees  of  these  dexterities  which  they  admit.  A  smith's 
work  at  his  anvil  admits  little  but  the  first  ;  fencing,  shooting, 
and  riding,  admit  something  of  the  second  ;  while  the  fine  arts 
admit  (merely  through  the  channel  of  the  bodily  dexterities)  an 
expression  almost  of  the  whole  man. 

Nevertheless,  though  the  higher  arts  admit  this  higher  bodily 
perfection,  they  do  not  all  require  it  in  equal  degrees,  but  can 
dispense  with  it  more  and  more  in  proportion  to  their  dignity. 
The  arts  whose  chief  element  is  bodily  dexterity,  may  be  classed 
together  as  arts  of  the  third  order,  of  which  the  highest  will 
be  those  which  admit  most  of  the  power  of  moral  habit  and 
energy,  such  as  riding  and  the  management  of  weapons  ;  and 
the  rest  may  be  thrown  together  under  the  general  title  of 
handicrafts,  of  which  it  does  not  much  matter  which  are  the 
most  honorable,  but  rather,  which  are  the  most  necessary  and 
least  injurious  to  health,  which  it  is  not  our  present  business 
to  examine.  Men  engaged  in  the  practice  of  these  are  called 
artizans,  as  opposed  to  artists,  who  are  concerned  with  the 
fine  arts. 

The  next  step  in  elevation  of  art  is  the  addition  of  the  intelli- 
gences which  have  no  connection  with  bodily  dexterity  ;  as,  for 
instance,  in  hunting,  the  knowledge  of  the  habits  of  animals 
and  their  places  of  abode  ;  in  architecture,  of  mathematics  ;  in 
painting,  of  harmonies  of  color  ;  in  music,  of  those  of  sound  ; 
all  this  pure  science  being  joined  with  readiness  of  expedient 
in  applying  it,  and  with  shrewdness  in  apprehension  of  difficuh 
ties,  either  present  or  probable. 

It  will  often  happen  that  intelligence  of  this  kind  is  possessed 


APPENDIX. 


893 


without  bodily  dexterity,  or  the  need  of  it  ;  one  man  directing 
and  another  executing,  as  for  the  most  part  in  architecture, 
war,  and  seamanship.  And  it  is  to  be  observed,  also,  that  in 
proportion  to  the  dignity  of  the  art,  the  bodily  dexterities 
needed  even  in  its  subordinate  agents  become  less  important, 
and  are  more  and  more  replaced  by  intelligence  ;  as  in  the 
steering  of  a  ship,  the  bodily  dexterity  required  is  less  than  in 
shooting  or  fencing,  but  the  intelligence  far  greater  :  and  so  in 
war,  the  mere  swordsmanship  and  marksmanship  of  the  troops 
are  of  small  importance  in  comparison  with  their  disposition, 
and  right  choice  of  the  moment  of  action.  So  that  arts  of  this 
second  order  must  be  estimated,  not  by  the  quantity  of  bodily 
dexterity  they  require,  but  by  the  quantity  and  dignity  of  the 
knowledge  needed  in  their  practice,  and  by  the  degree  of 
subtlety  needed  in  bringing  such  knowledge  into  play.  War 
certainly  stands  first  in  the  general  mind,  not  only  as  the 
greatest  of  the  arts  which  I  have  called  of  the  second  order, 
but  as  the  greatest  of  all  arts.  It  is  not,  however,  easy  to 
distinguish  the  respect  paid  to  the  Power,  from  that  rendered 
to  the  Art  of  the  soldier  ;  the  honor  of  victory  being  more 
dependent,  in  the  vulgar  mind,  on  its  results,  than  its  difficul- 
ties. I  believe,  however,  that  taking  into  consideration  the 
greatness  of  the  anxieties  under  which  this  art  must  be  prac- 
tised, the  multitude  of  circumstances  to  be  known  and  re- 
garded in  it,  and  the  subtleties  both  of  apprehension  and 
stratagem  constantly  demanded  by  it,  as  well  as  the  multi- 
plicity of  disturbing  accidents  and  doubtful  contingencies 
against  which  it  must  make  provision  on  the  instant,  it  must 
indeed  rank  as  far  the  first  of  the  arts  of  the  second  order  ; 
and  next  to  this  great  art  of  killing,  medicine  being  much  like 
war  in  its  stratagems  and  watchings  against  its  dark  and 
subtle  death-enemy. 

Then  the  arts  of  the  first  order  will  be  those  in  which  the 
Imaginative  part  of  the  intellect  and  the  Sensitive  part  of  the 
tsoul  are  joined  :  as  poetry,  architecture,  and  painting  ;  these 
forming  a  kind  of  cross,  in  their  part  of  the  scheme  of  the  hu- 
man being,  with  those  of  the  second  order,  which  wed  the  In- 
telligent part  of  the  intellect  and  Resolute  part  of  the  soul 


394 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


But  the  reader  must  feel  more  and  more,  at  every  step,  the 
impossibility  of  classing  the  arts  themselves,  independently  oi 
the  men  by  whom  they  are  practised  ;  and  how  an  art,  low  in 
itself,  may  be  made  noble  by  the  quantity  of  human  strength 
and  being  which  a  great  man  will  pour  into  it ;  and  an  art, 
great  in  itself,  be  made  mean  by  the  meanness  of  the  mind 
occupied  in  it.  I  do  not  intend,  wThen  I  call  painting  an  art 
of  the  first,  and  war  an  art  of  the  second,  order,  to  class 
Dutch  landscape  painters  with  good  soldiers  ;  but  I  mean, 
that  if  from  such  a  man  as  Napoleon  we  were  to  take  away 
the  honor  of  all  that  he  had  done  in  law  and  civil  government, 
and  to  give  him  the  reputation  of  his  soldiership  only,  his 
name  would  be  less,  if  justly  weighed,  than  that  of  Buon- 
arroti, himself  a  good  soldier  also,  when  need  was.  But  I 
will  not  endeavor  to  pursue  the  inquiry,  for  I  believe  that  of 
all  the  arts  of  the  first  order  it  would  be  found  that  all  that  a 
man  has,  or  is,  or  can  be,  he  can  fully  express  in  them,  and 
give  to  any  of  them,  and  find  it  not  enough. 

15.   INSTINCTIVE  JUDGMENTS. 

The  same  rapid  judgment  which  I  wish  to  enable  the  reader 
to  form  of  architecture,  may  in  some  sort  also  be  formed  of 
painting,  owing  to  the  close  connection  between  execution  and 
expression  in  the  latter ;  as  between  structure  and  expression 
m  the  former.  We  ought  to  be  able  to  tell  good  painting  by 
a  side  glance  as  we  pass  along  a  gallery  ;  and,  until  we  can  do 
so,  we  are  not  fit  to  pronounce  judgment  at  all :  not  that  I 
class  this  easily  visible  excellence  of  painting  with  the  great  ex- 
pressional  qualities  which  time  and  watchfulness  only  unfold, 
I  have  again  and  again  insisted  on  the  supremacy  of  these 
last  and  shall  always  continue  to  do  so.  But  I  perceive  a  ten- 
dency among  some  of  the  more  thoughtful  critics  of  the  day 
to  forget  that  the  business  of  a  painter  is  to  paint,  and  so  al- 
together to  despise  those  men,  Veronese  and  Kubens  for  in- 
stance, who  were  painters,  par  excellence,  and  in  whom  the 
expressional  qualities  are  subordinate.  Now  it  is  well,  when 
we  have  strong  moral  or  poetical  feeling  manifested  in  paint* 
wig,  to  mark  this  as  the  best  part  of  the  work  ;  but  it  is  not 


APPENDTX. 


395 


well  to  consider  as  a  thing  of  small  account,  the  painter's  lan- 
guage in  which  that  feeling  is  conveyed  ;  for  if  that  language 
be  not  good  and  lovely,  the  man  may  indeed  be  a  just  moral- 
ist or  a  great  poet,  but  he  is  not  a  painter,  and  it  was  wrong 
of  him  to  paint.  He  had  much  better  put  his  morality  into 
sermons,  and  his  poetry  into  verse,  than  into  a  language 
of  which  he  was  not  master.  And  this  mastery  of  the  lan- 
guage is  that  of  which  we  should  be  cognizant  by  a  glance  of 
the  eye  ;  and  if  that  be  not  found,  it  is  wasted  time  to  look 
farther  :  the  man  has  mistaken  his  vocation,  and  his  expres- 
sion of  himself  will  be  cramped  by  his  awkward  efforts  to  do 
what  he  was  not  fit  to  do.  On  the  other  hand,  if  the  man  be 
a  painter  indeed,  and  have  the  gift  of  colors  and  lines,  what 
is  in  him  will  come  from  his  hand  freely  and  faithfully  ;  and 
the  language  itself  is  so  difficult  and  so  vast,  that  the  mere 
possession  of  it  argues  the  man  is  great,  and  that  his  works 
are  worth  reading.  So  that  I  have  never  yet  seen  the  case  in 
which  this  true  artistical  excellence,  visible  by  the  eye-glance, 
was  not  the  index  of  some  true  expressional  worth  in  the 
work.  Neither  have  I  ever  seen  a  good  expressional  work 
without  high  artistical  merit :  and  that  this  is  ever  denied  is 
only  owing  to  the  narrow  view  which  men  are  apt  to  take  both 
of  expression  and  of  art  ;  a  narrowness  consequent  on  their 
own  especial  practice  and  habits  of  thought.  A  man  long 
trained  to  love  the  monk's  visions  of  Era  Angelico,  turns  in 
proud  and  ineffable  disgust  from  the  first  work  of  Kubens 
which  he  encounters  on  his  return  across  the  Alps.  But  is  he 
right  in  his  indignation  ?  He  has  forgotten,  that  while  An- 
gelico prayed  and  wept  in  his  olive  shade,  there  was  different 
work  doing  in  the  dank  fields  of  Flanders  ; — wild 'seas  to  be 
banked  out ;  endless  canals  to  be  dug,  and  boundless  marshes 
to  be  drained  ;  hard  ploughing  and  harrowing  of  the  frosty 
clay  ;  careful  breeding  of  stout  horses  and  fat  cattle  ;  close 
setting  of  brick  walls  against  cold  winds  and  snow  ;  much 
hardening  of  hands  and  gross  stoutening  of  bodies  in  all  this  ; 
gross  jovialities  of  harvest  homes  and  Christmas  feasts,  which 
were  to  be  the  reward  of  it ;  rough  affections,  and  sluggish 
imagination  ;  fleshy,  substantial,  ironshod  humanities,  but 


396 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


humanities  still ;  humanities  which  God  had  his  eye  upon, 
and  which  won,  perhaps,  here  and  there,  as  much  favoi 
in  his  sight  as  the  wasted  aspects  of  the  whispering  monks 
of  Florence  (Heaven  forbid  it  should  not  be  so,  since  the 
most  of  us  cannot  be  monks,  but  must  be  ploughmen  and 
reapers  still).  And  are  we  to  suppose  there  is  no  nobility 
in  Rubens'  masculine  and  universal  sympathy  with  all  this, 
and  with  his  large  human  rendering  of  it,  Gentleman  though 
he  was,  by  birth,  and  feeling,  and  education,  and  place  ;  and, 
when  he  chose,  lordly  in  conception  also  ?  He  had  his 
faults,  perhaps  great  and  lamentable  faults,  though  more 
those  of  his  time  and  his  country  than  his  own  ;  he  has 
neither  cloister  breeding  nor  boudoir  breeding,  and  is  very 
unfit  to  paint  either  in  missals  or  annuals  ;  but  he  has  an 
open  sky  and  wide-world  breeding  in  him,  that  we  may  not 
be  offended  with,  fit  alike  for  king's  court,  knight's  camp,  or 
peasant's  cottage.  On  the  other  hand,  a  man  trained  here  in 
England,  in  our  Sir  Joshua  school,  will  not  and  cannot  allow 
that  there  is  any  art  at  all  in  the  technical  work  of  Angelico. 
But  he  is  just  as  wrong  as  the  other.  Era  Angelico  is  as  true 
a  master  of  the  art  necessary  to  his  purposes,  as  Rubens  was 
of  that  necessary  for  his.  We  have  been  taught  in  England 
to  think  there  can  be  no  virtue  but  in  a  loaded  brush  and 
rapid  hand  ;  but  if  we  can  shake  our  common  sense  free  of 
such  teaching,  we  shall  understand  that  there  is  art  also  in 
the  delicate  point  and  in  the  hand  which  trembles  as  it  moves  ; 
not  because  it  is  more  liable  to  err,  but  because  there  is 
more  danger  in  its  error,  and  more  at  stake  upon  its  precision. 
The  art  of  Angelico,  both  as  a  colorist  and  a  draughtsman,  is 
consummate  ;  so  perfect  and  beautiful,  that  his  work  may  be 
recognised  at  any  distance  by  the  rainbow-play  and  brilliancy 
of  it :  However  closely  it  may  be  surrounded  by  other  works 
of  the  same  school,  glowing  with  enamel  and  gold,  Angelico's 
may  be  told  from  them  at  a  glance,  like  so  many  huge  pieces 
of  opal  lying  among  common  marbles.  So  again  with  Giotto  ; 
the  Arena  chapel  is  not  only  the  most  perfect  expression al 
work,  it  is  the  prettiest  piece  of  wall  decoration  and  fair  color, 
in  North  Italy. 


APPENDIX. 


897 


Now  there  is  a  correspondence  of  the  same  kind  between 
the  technical  and  expressional  parts  of  architecture  not  a 
true  or  entire  correspondence,  so  that  when  the  expression  is 
best,  the  building  must  be  also  best ;  but  so  much  of  corre- 
spondence as  that  good  building  is  necessary  to  good  expres- 
sion, comes  before  it,  and  is  to  be  primarily  looked  for :  and 
the  more,  because  the  manner  of  building  is  capable  of  being 
determinately  estimated  and  classed  ;  but  the  expressional 
character  not  so :  we  can  at  once  determine  the  true  value  of 
technical  qualities,  we  can  only  approximate  to  the  value  of 
expressional  qualities  :  and  besides  this,  the  looking  for  the 
technical  qualities  first  will  enable  us  to  cast  a  large  quantity 
of  rubbish  aside  at  once,  and  so  to  narrow  the  difficult  field  of 
inquiry  into  expression  :  we  shall  get  rid  of  Chinese  pagodas 
and  Indian  temples,  and  Eenaissance  Pcilladianisms,  and  Al- 
hambra  stucco  and  filigree,  in  one  great  rubbish  heap  ;  and 
shall  not  need  to  trouble  ourselves  about  their  expression,  or 
anything  else  concerning  them.  Then  taking  the  buildings 
which  have  been  rightly  put  together,  and  which  show  com- 
mon sense  in  their  structure,  we  may  look  for  their  farther 
and  higher  excellences  ;  but  on  those  which  are  absurd  in 
their  first  steps  we  need  waste  no  time. 

16.  STRENGTH  OF  SHAFTS. 

I  could  have  wished,  before  writing  this  chapter,  to  have 
given  more  study  to  the  difficult  subject  of  the  strength  of 
shafts  of  different  materials  and  structure  ;  but  I  cannot  enter 
into  every  inquiry  which  general  criticism  might  suggest,  and 
this  I  believe  to  be  one  which  would  have  occupied  the  reader 
with  less  profit  than  many  others  :  all  that  is  necessary  for 
him  to  note  is,  that  the  great  increase  of  strength  gained  by  a 
tubular  form  in  iron  shafts,  of  given  solid  contents,  is  no  con- 
tradiction to  the  general  principle  stated  in  the  text,  that  the 
strength  of  materials  is  most  available  when  they  are  most 
concentrated.  The  strength  of  the  tube  is  owing  to  certain 
properties  of  the  arch  formed  by  its  sides,  not  to  the  disper- 
sion of  its  materials  :  and  the  principle  is  altogether  inapplica- 


398 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


ble  to  stone  shafts.  No  one  would  think  of  building  a  pillaf 
of  a  succession  of  sandstone  rings  ;  however  strong  it  might 
be,  it  would  be  still  stronger  filled  up,  and  the  substitution  of 
such  a  pillar  for  a  solid  one  of  the  same  contents  would  lose 
too  much  space  ;  for  a  stone  pillar,  even  when  solid,  must  be 
quite  as  thick  as  is  either  graceful  or  convenient,  and  in  mod- 
ern churches  is  often  too  thick  as  it  is,  hindering  sight  of  the 
preacher,  and  checking  the  sound  of  his  voice. 


17.  ANSWER  TO  MR.  GARBETT. 

Some  three  months  ago,  and  long  after  the  writing  of  this 
passage,  I  met  accidentally  with  Mr.  Garbett's  elementary 
Treatise  on  Design.  (Weale,  1850.)  If  I  had  cared  about  the 
reputation  of  originality,  I  should  have  been  annoyed — and 
was  so,  at  first,  on  finding  Mr.  Garbett's  illustrations  of  the 
subject  exactly  the  same  as  mine,  even  to  the  choice  of  the  ele- 
phant's foot  for  the  parallel  of  the  Doric  pillar :  I  even  thought 
of  omitting,  or  re-writing,  great  part  of  the  chapter,  but  deter- 
mined at  last  to  let  it  stand.  I  am  striving  to  speak  plain 
truths  on  many  simple  and  trite  subjects,  and  I  hope,  there- 
fore, that  much  of  what  I  say  has  been  said  before,  and  am 
quite  willing  to  give  up  all  claim  to  originality  in  any  reason- 
ing or  assertion  whatsoever,  if  any  one  cares  to  dispute  it.  I 
desire  the  reader  to  accept  what  I  say,  not  as  mine,  but  as  the 
truth,  which  may  be  all  the  world's,  if  they  look  for  it.  If 
I  remember  rightly,  Mr.  Frank  Howard  promised  at  some 
discussion  respecting  the  "Seven  Lamps,"  reported  in  the 
"Builder,"  to  pluck  all  my  borrowed  feathers  off  me  ;  but  I 
did  not  see  the  end  of  the  discussion,  and  do  not  know  to  this 
day  how  many  feathers  I  have  left :  at  all  events  the  elephant's 
foot  must  belong  to  Mr.  Garbett,  though,  strictly  speaking, 
neither  he  nor  I  can  be  quite  justified  in  using  it,  for  an  ele- 
phant in  reality  stands  on  tiptoe  ;  and  this  is  by  no  means  the 
expression  of  a  Doric  shaft.  As,  however,  I  have  been  obliged 
to  speak  of  this  treatise  of  Mr.  Garbett's,  and  desire  also  to 
recommend  it  as  of  much  interest  and  utility  in  its  statements 
^>f  fact,  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  pass  altogether  without  no 


APPENDIX. 


399 


tice,  as  if  unanswerable,  several  passages  in  which  the  writer 
has  objected  to  views  stated  in  the  "  Seven  Lamps."  'I  should 
at  any  rate  have  noticed  the  passage  quoted  above,  (Chap. 
80th,)  which  runs  counter  to  the  spirit  of  all  I  have  ever  writ- 
ten, though  without  referring  to  me  ;  but  the  references  to 
the  " Seven  Lamps"  I  should  not  have  answered,  unless  I  had 
desired,  generally,  to  recommend  the  book,  and  partly  also,  be- 
cause they  may  serve  as  examples  of  the  kind  of  animadversion 
which  the  "Seven  Lamps"  had  to  sustain  from  architects, 
very  generally ;  which  examples  being  once  answered,  there 
will  be  little  occasion  for  my  referring  in  future  to  other  criti- 
cisms of  the  kind. 

The  first  reference  to  the  "Seven  Lamps"  is  in  the  second 
page,  where  Mr.  Garbett  asks  a  question,  ' 'Why  are  not  con- 
venience and  stability  enough  to  constitute  a  fine  building?  " 
— which  I  should  have  answered  shortly  by  asking  another, 
"  Why  we  have  been  made  men,  and  not  bees  nor  termites  :  " 
but  Mr.  Garbett  has  given  a  very  pretty,  though  partial, 
answer  to  it  himself,  in  his  4th  to  9th  pages, — an  answer 
which  I  heartily  beg  the  reader  to  consider.  But,  in  page  12, 
it  is  made  a  grave  charge  against  me,  that  I  use  the  words 
beauty  and  ornament  interchangeably.  I  do  so,  and  ever 
shall  ;  and  so,  I  believe,  one  day,  will  Mr.  Garbett  himself ; 
but  not  while  he  continues  to  head  his  pages  thus: — "Beauty 
not  dependent  on  ornament,  or  superfluous  features."  What 
right  has  he  to  assume  that  ornament,  rightly  so  called,  ever 
was,  or  can  be,  superfluous  ?  I  have  said  before,  and  repeat- 
edly in  other  places,  that  the  most  beautiful  things  are  the 
most  useless  ;  I  never  said  superfluous.  I  said  useless  in  the 
well-understood  and  usual  sense,  as  meaning,  inapplicable  to 
the  service  of  the  body.  Thus  I  called  peacocks  and  lilies 
useless ;  meaning,  that  roast  peacock  was  unwholesome  (tak- 
ing Juvenal's  word  for  it),  and  that  dried  lilies  made  bad  hay: 
but  I  do  not  think  peacocks  superfluous  birds,  nor  that  the 
world  could  get  on  well  without  its  lilies.  Or,  to  look  closer, 
I  suppose  the  peacock's  blue  eyes  to  be  very  useless  to  him ; 
not  dangerous  indeed,  as  to  their  first  master,  but  of  small 
service,  yet  I  do  not  think  there  is  a  superfluous  eye  in  all  his 


400 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


tail :  and  for  lilies,  though  the  great  King  of  Israel  was  not 
"  arrayed *  like  one  of  them,  can  Mr.  Garbett  tell  us  which 
are  their  superfluous  leaves?  Is  there  no  Diogenes  among 
lilies?  none  to  be  found  content  to  drink  dewT,  but  out  of 
silver  ?  The  fact  is,  I  never  met  with  the  architect  yet  who 
did  not  think  ornament  meant  a  thing  to  be  bought  in  a  shop 
and  pinned  on,  or  left  off,  at  architectural  toilets,  as  the  fancy 
seized  them,  thinking  little  more  than  many  women  do  of  the 
other  kind  of  ornament — the  only  true  kind,  — St.  Peters  kind, 
— "Not  that  outward  adorning,  but  the  inner — of  the  heart.'" 
I  do  not  mean  that  architects  cannot  conceive  this  better  or- 
nament, but  they  do  not  understand  that  it  is  the  only  orna- 
ment ;  that  all  architectural  ornament  is  this,  and  nothing  but 
this  ;  that  a  noble  building  never  has  any  extraneous  or  su- 
perfluous ornament;  that  all  its  parts  are  necessary  to  its  love- 
liness, and  that  no  single  atom  of  them  could  be  removed 
without  harm  to  its  life.  You  do  not  build  a  temple  and  then 
dress  it*  You  create  it  in  its  loveliness,  and  leave  it,  as  her 
Maker  left  Eve.  Not  unadorned,  I  believe,  but  so  well  adorned 
as  to  need  no  feather  crowns.  And  I  use  the  words  ornament 
and  beauty  interchangeably,  in  order  that  architects  may  un- 
derstand this  :  I  assume  that  their  building  is  to  be  a  perfect 
creature  capable  of  nothing  less  than  it  has,  and  needing  noth- 
ing more.  It  may,  indeed,  receive  additional  decoration  after- 
wards, exactly  as  a  woman  may  gracefully  put  a  bracelet  on 
her  arm,  or  set  a  flower  in  her  hair:  but  that  additional 
decoration  is  not  the  architecture.  It  is  of  curtains,  pictures, 
statues,  things  that  may  be  taken  away  from  the  building,  and 
not  hurt  it.  What  has  the  architect  to  do  with  these  ?  He  has 
only  to  do  with  what  is  part  of  the  building  itself,  that  is  to 
say,  its  own  inherent  beauty.  And  because  Mr.  Garbett  does 
not  understand  or  acknowledge  this,  he  is  led  on  from  error 
to  error  ;  for  we  next  find  him  endeavoring  to  define  beauty 
as  distinct  from  ornament,  and  saying  that  "Positive  beauty 
may  be  produced  by  a  studious  collation  of  whatever  will 

*  We  have  done  so — theoretically  ;  just  as  one  would  reason  on  the 
human  form  from  the  hones  outwards :  but  the  Architect  of  human 
form  frames  all  at  oiise — bone  and  flesh. 


APPENDIX. 


401 


display  design,  order,  and  congruity."  (p.  14.)  Is  that  so? 
There  is  a  highly  studious  collation  of  whatever  will  display 
design,  order,  and  congruity,  in  a  skull,  is  there  not? — yet 
small  beauty.  The  nose  is  a  decorative  feature, — yet  slightly 
necessary  to  beauty,  it  seems  to  me  ;  now,  at  least,  for  I  once 
thought  I  must  be  wrong  in  considering  a  skull  disagreeable. 
I  gave  it  fair  trial :  put  one  on  my  bedroom  chimney-piece, 
and  looked  at  it  by  sunrise  every  morning,  and  by  moonlight 
every  night,  and  by  all  the  best  lights  I  could  think  of,  for  a 
month,  in  vain.  I  found  it  as  ugly  at  last  as  I  did  at  first. 
So,  also,  the  hair  is  a  decoration,  and  its  natural  curl  is  of 
little  use  ;  but  can  Mr.  Garbett  conceive  a  bald  beauty ;  or 
does  he  prefer  a  wig,  because  that  is  a  "studious  collation  " 
of  whatever  will  produce  design,  order,  and  congruity?  So 
the  flush  of  the  cheek  is  a  decoration, — God's  painting  of  the 
temple  of  his  spirit, — and  the  redness  of  the  lip  ;  and  yet  poor 
Yiola  thought  it  beauty  truly  blent ;  and  I  hold  with  her. 
I  have  answered  enough  to  this  count. 

The  second  point  questioned  is  my  assertion,  "Ornament 
cannot  be  overcharged  if  it  is  good,  and  is  always  overcharged 
when  it  is  bad."  To  which  Mr.  Garbett  objects  in  these  terms  : 
"  I  must  contend,  on  the  contrary,  that  the  very  best  ornament 
may  be  overcharged  by  being  misplaced." 

A  short  sentence  with  two  mistakes  in  it. 

First.  Mr.  Garbett  cannot  get  rid  of  his  unfortunate  notion 
that  ornament  is  a  thing  to  be  manufactured  separately,  and 
fastened  on.  He  supposes  that  an  ornament  may  be  called 
good  in  itself,  in  the  stonemason's  yard,  or  in  the  ironmonger's 
shop  :  Once  for  all,  let  him  put  this  idea  out  of  his  head.  We 
may  say  of  a  thing,  considered  separately,  that  it  is  a  pretty 
thing  ;  but  before  we  can  say  it  is  a  good  ornament,  we  must 
know  wThat  it  is  to  adorn,  and  how.  As,  for  instance,  a  ring 
of  gold  is  a  pretty  thing  ;  it  is  a  good  ornament  on  a  woman's 
finger  ;  not  a  good  ornament  hung  through  her  under  lip.  A 
hollyhock,  seven  feet  high,  wTould  be  a  good  ornament  for  a 
cottage-garden  ;  not  a  good  ornament  for  a  lady's  head-dress. 
Might  not  Mr.  Garbett  have  seen  this  without  my  showing  ? 
and  that,  therefore,  when  I  said  "  good  13  ornament,  I  saicj 
Vol.  1—26 


402 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


*'  well-placed  "  ornament,  in  one,  word,  and  that,  also,  when 
Mr.  Garbett  says  "  it  may  be  overcharged  by  being  mis- 
placed," he  merely  says  it  may  be  overcharged  by  being  bad. 

Secondly.  But,  granted  that  ornament  were  independent 
of  its  position,  and  might  be  pronounced  good  in  a  separate 
form,  as  books  are  good,  or  men  are  good, — Suppose  I  had 
written  to  a  student  in  Oxford,  "  You  cannot  have  too  many 
books,  if  they  be  good  books  ; "  and  he  had  answered  me, 
"  Yes,  for  if  I  have  many,  I  have  no  place  to  put  them  in  but 
the  coal-cellar."  Would  that  in  anywise  affect  the  general 
principle  that  he  could  not  have  too  many  books  ? 

Or  suppose  he  had  written,  "  I  must  not  have  too  many, 
they  confuse  my  head."  I  should  have  written  back  to  him  : 
"  Don't  buy  books  to  put  in  the  coal-hole,  nor  read  them  if 
they  confuse  your  head  ;  you  cannot  have  too  many,  if  they  be 
good  :  but  if  you  are  too  lazy  to  take  care  of  them,  or  too  dull 
to  profit  by  them,  you  are  better  without  them." 

Exactly  in  the  same  tone,  I  repeat  to  Mr.  Garbett,  "  You 
cannot  have  too  much  ornament,  if  it  be  good :  but  if  you  are 
too  indolent  to  arrange  it,  or  too  dull  to  take  advantage  of  it, 
assuredly  you  are  better  without  it." 

The  other  points  bearing  on  this  question  have  already  been 
stated  in  the  close  of  the  21st  chapter. 

The  third  reference  I  have  to  answer,  is  to  my  repeated  as- 
sertion, that  the  evidence  of  manual  labor  is  one  of  the  chief 
sources  of  value  in  ornament,  ("  Seven  Lamps,"  p.  56,  "  Mod- 
ern Painters,"  §  1,  Chap.  III.,)  to  which  objection  is  made  in 
these  terms  :  "  We  must  here  warn  the  reader  against  a  re- 
markable error  of  Buskin.  The  value  of  ornaments  in  archi- 
tecture depends  not  in  the  slightest  degree  on  the  manual  labor 
they  contain.  If  it  did,  the  finest  ornaments  ever  executed 
would  be  the  stone  chains  that  hang  before  certain  Indian 
rock-temples."  Is  that  so  ?  Hear  a  parallel  argument.  "  The 
value  of  the  Cornish  mines  depends  not  in  the  slightest  degree 
on  the  quantity  of  copper  they  contain.  If  it  did,  the  most 
valuable  things  ever  produced  would  be  copper  saucepans." 
It  is  hardly  worth  my  while  to  answer  this  ;  but,  lest  any  of 
my  readers  should  be  confused  by  the  objection,  and  as  1  hold 


APPENDIX, 


403 


the  fact  to  be  of  great  importance,  I  may  re-state  it  for  them 
with  some  explanation. 

Observe,  then,  the  appearance  of  labor,  that  is  to  say,  the 
evidence  of  the  past  industry  of  man,  is  always,  in  the  abstract, 
intensely  delightful :  man  being  meant  to  labor,  it  is  delightful 
to  see  that  he  has  labored,  and  to  read  the  record  of  his  active 
and  worthy  existence. 

The  evidence  of  labor  becomes  painful  only  when  it  is  a  sign 
of  Evil  greater,  as  Evil,  than  the  labor  is  great,  as  Good.  As, 
for  instance,  if  a  man  has  labored  for  an  hour  at  what  might 
have  been  done  by  another  man  in  a  moment,  this  evidence  of 
his  labor  is  also  evidence  of  his  weakness  ;  and  this  weakness  is 
greater  in  rank  of  evil,  than  his  industry  is  great  in  rank  of 
good. 

Again,  if  a  man  have  labored  at  what  was  not  worth  accom- 
plishing, the  signs  of  his  labor  are  the  signs  of  his  folly,  and  his 
folly  dishonors  his  industry ;  we  had  rather  he  had  been  a  wise 
man  in  rest  than  a  fool  in  labor. 

Again,  if  a  man  have  labored  without  accomplishing  any- 
thing,  the  signs  of  his  labor  are  the  signs  of  his  disappoint- 
ment ;  and  we  have  more  sorrow  in  sympathy  with  his  failure, 
than  pleasure  in  sympathy  with  his  work. 

Now,  therefore,  in  ornament,  whenever  labor  replaces  what 
was  better  than  labor,  that  is  to  say,  skill  and  thought  ;  wher- 
ever it  substitutes  itself  for  these,  or  negatives  these  by  its  exist- 
ence, then  it  is  positive  evil.  Copper  is  an  evil  when  it  alloys 
gold,  or  poisons  food :  not  an  evil,  as  copper  ;  good  in  the 
form  of  pence,  seriously  objectionable  when  it  occupies  the 
room  of  guineas.  Let  Danae  cast  it  out  of  her  lap,  when 
the  gold  comes  from  heaven  ;  but  let  the  poor  man  gather  it 
up  carefully  from  the  earth. 

Farther,  the  evidence  of  labor  is  not  only  a  good  when  added 
to  other  good,  but  the  utter  absence  of  it  destroys  good  in 
human  work.  It  is  only  good  for  God  to  create  without  toil ; 
that  which  man  can  create  without  toil  is  worthless  :  machine 
ornaments  are  no  ornaments  at  all.  Consider  this  carefully, 
reader  :  I  could  illustrate  it  for  you  endlessly  ;  but  you  feel  it 
yourself  every  hour  of  your  existence.    And  if  you  do  not 


404 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


know  that  you  feel  it,  take  up,  for  a  little  time,  the  trado 
which  of  all  manual  trades  has  been  most  honored  :  be  for 
once  a  carpenter.  Make  for  yourself  a  table  or  a  chair,  and 
see  if  you  ever  thought  any  table  or  chair  so  delightful, 
and  what  strange  beauty  there  will  be  in  their  crooked  limbs. 

I  have  not  noticed  any  other  animadversions  on  the  "  Seven 
Lamps"  in  Mr.  Garbett's  volume  ;  but  if  there  be  more,  I  must 
now  leave  it  to  his  own  consideration,  whether  he  may  not,  as 
in  the  above  instances,  have  made  them  incautiously :  I  may, 
perhaps,  also  be  permitted  to  request  other  architects,  who 
may  happen  to  glance  at  the  preceding  pages,  not  immediately 
to  condemn  what  may  appear  to  them  false  in  general  principle, 
I  must  often  be  found  deficient  in  technical  knowledge;  I  may 
often  err  in  my  statements  respecting  matters  of  practice  or  of 
special  law.  But  I  do  not  write  thoughtlessly  respecting  prin- 
ciples ;  and  my  statements  of  these  will  generally  be  found 
worth  reconnoitring  before  attacking.  Architects,  no  doubt, 
fancy  they  have  strong  grounds  for  supposing  me  wrong  when 
they  seek  to  invalidate  my  assertions.  Let  me  assure  them,  at 
least,  that  I  mean  to  be  their  friend,  although  they  may  not 
immediately  recognise  me  as  such.  If  I  could  obtain  the 
public  ear,  and  the  principles  I  have  advocated  were  carried 
into  general  practice,  porphyry  and  serpentine  would  be 
given  to  them  instead  of  limestone  and  brick  ;  instead  of  tavern 
and  shop-fronts  they  would  have  to  build  goodly  churches 
and  noble  dwelling-houses  ;  and  for  every  stunted  Grecism 
and  stucco  Romanism,  into  which  they  are  now  forced  to 
shape  tbeir  palsied  thoughts,  and  to  whose  crumbling  plagiar- 
isms they  must  trust  their  doubtful  fame,  they  would  be 
asked  to  raise  whole  streets  of  bold,  and  rich,  and  living  archi- 
tecture, with  the  certainty  in  their  hearts  of  doing  what  was 
honorable  to  themselves,  and  good  for  ail  men. 

Before  I  altogether  leave  the  question  of  the  influence  of 
labor  on  architectural  effect,  the  reader  may  expect  from  me  a 
word  or  two  respecting  the  subject  which  this  year  must  be 
interesting  to  all— the  applicability,  namely,  of  glass  and  iron 
to  architecture  in  general,  as  in  some  sort  exemplified  by  the 
Crystal  Palace. 


APPENDIX. 


405 


It  is  thought  by  many  that  we  shall  forthwith  have  great 
part  of  our  architecture  in  glass  and  iron,  and  that  new  forms 
of  beauty  will  result  from  the  studied  employment  of  these 
materials. 

It  may  be  told  in  a  few  words  how  far  this  is  possible ;  how 
far  eternally  impossible. 

There  are  two  means  of  delight  in  all  productions  of  art — 
color  and  form. 

The  most  vivid  conditions  of  color  attainable  by  human  art 
are  those  of  works  in  glass  and  enamel,  but  not  the  most  per- 
fect. The  best  and  noblest  coloring  possible  to  art  is  that 
attained  by  the  touch  of  the  human  hand  on  an  opaque  sur- 
face, upon  which  it  can  command  any  tint  required,  without 
subjection  to  alteration  by  fire  or  other  mechanical  means. 
No  color  is  so  noble  as  the  color  of  a  good  painting  on  canvas 
or  gesso. 

This  kind  of  color  being,  however,  impossible,  for  the  most 
part,  in  architecture,  the  next  best  is  the  scientific  disposition 
of  the  natural  colors  of  stones,  which  are  far  nobler  than  any 
abstract  hues  producible  by  human  art. 

The  delight  which  we  receive  from  glass  painting  is  one 
altogether  inferior,  and  in  which  we  should  degrade  ourselves 
by  over  indulgence.  Nevertheless,  it  is  possible  that  we  may 
raise  some  palaces  like  Aladdin's  with  colored  glass  for  jewels, 
which  shall  be  new  in  the  annals  of  human  splendor,  and 
good  in  their  place  ;  but  not  if  they  superseded  nobler  edi- 
fices. 

Now,  color  is  producible  either  on  opaque  or  in  transpar- 
ent  bodies  :  but  form  is  only  expressible,  in  its  perfection,  on 
opaque  bodies,  without  lustre. 

This  law  is  imperative,  universal,  irrevocable.  No  perfect 
or  refined  form  can  be  expressed  except  in  opaque  and  lustre- 
less matter.  You  cannot  see  the  form  of  a  jewel,  nor,  in  any 
perfection,  even  of  a  cameo  or  bronze.  You  cannot  perfectly 
see  the  form  of  a  humming-bird,  on  account  of  its  burnish- 
ing ;  but  you  can  see  the  form  of  a  swan  perfectly.  No  noble 
work  in  form  can  ever,  therefore,  be  produced  in  transparent 
or  lustrous  glass  or  enamel.    All  noble  architecture  depends 


400 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


for  its  majesty  on  its  form  :  therefore  you  can  never  have  anj 
noble  architecture  in  transparent  or  lustrous  glass  or  enamel. 
Iron  is,  however,  opaque  ;  and  both  it  and  opaque  enamel 
may,  perhaps,  be  rendered  quite  lustreless  ;  and,  therefore, 
fit  to  receive  noble  form. 

Let  this  be  thoroughly  done,  and  both  the  iron  and  enamel 
made  fine  in  paste  or  grain,  and  you  may  have  an  architect- 
ure as  noble  as  cast  or  struck  architecture  even  can  be  :  as 
noble,  therefore,  as  coins  can  be,  or  common  cast  bronzes,  and 
such  other  multiplicable  things  ;  * — eternally  separated  from 
all  good  and  great  things  by  a  gulph  which  not  all  the  tubu- 
lar bridges  nor  engineering  of  ten  thousand  nineteenth  cen- 
turies cast  into  one  great  bronze-foreheaded  century,  will  ever 
overpass  one  inch  of.  All  art  which  is  worth  its  room  in  this 
world,  all  art  which  is  not  a  piece  of  blundering  refuse,  occu- 
pying the  foot  or  two  of  earth  which,  if  unencumbered  by  it, 
would  have  grown  corn  or  violets,  or  some  better  thing,  is  art 
which  proceeds  from  an  individual  mind,  working  through  in- 
struments which  assist,  but  do  not  supersede,  the  muscidar  action 
of  the  human  hand,  upon  the  materials  which  most  tenderly  re- 
ceive, and  most  securely  retain,  the  impressions  of  such  human 
labor. 

And  the  value  of  every  work  of  art  is  exactly  in  the  ratio  of 
the  quantity  of  humanity  which  has  been  put  into  it,  and  leg- 
ibly expressed  upon  it  for  ever  : — 

First,  of  thought  and  moral  purpose  ; 

Secondly,  of  technical  skill ; 

Thirdly,  of  bodily  industry. 

*  Of  course  mere  multiplicability,  as  of  an  engraving,  does  not  dimin= 
ish  the  intrinsic  value  of  the  work  ;  and  if  the  casts  of  sculpture  could 
be  as  sharp  as  the  sculpture  itself,  they  would  hold  to  it  the  relation  of 
value  which  engravings  hold  to  paintings  And,  if  we  choose  to  have 
our  churches  all  alike,  we  might  cast  them  all  in  bronze — we  might  ac- 
tually coin  churches,  and  have  mints  of  Cathedrals.  It  would  be  worthy 
of  the  spirit  of  the  century  to  put  milled  edges  for  mouldings,  and  have 
a  popular  currency  of  religious  subjects  :  a  new  cast  of  nativities  every 
Christmas.  I  have  not  heard  this  contemplated,  however,  and  I  speak, 
therefore,  only  of  the  results  which  I  believe  are  contemplated,  as  at- 
tainable by  mere  mechanical  applications  of  glass  and  iron, 


APPENDIX. 


407 


The  quantity  of  bodily  industry  which  that  Crystal  Palace 
expresses  is  very  great.    So  far  it  is  good. 

The  quantity  of  thought  it  expresses  is,  I  suppose,  a  single 
and  very  admirable  thought  of  Mr.  Paxton's,  probably  not  a  bit 
brighter  than  thousands  of  thoughts  which  pass  through  his 
active  and  intelligent  brain  every  hour, — that  it  might  be  pos- 
sible to  build  a  greenhouse  larger  than  ever  greenhouse  was 
built  before.  This  thought,  and  some  very  ordinary  algebra, 
are  as  much  as  all  that  glass  can  represent  of  human  intellect. 
"  But  one  poor  half -penny  worth  of  bread  to  all  this  intolerable 
deal  of  sack."    Alas  ! 

u  The  earth  hath  bubbles  as  the  water  hath  : 
And  this  is  of  them." 

18.    EARLY  ENGLISH  CAPITALS. 

The  depth  of  the  cutting  in  some  of  the  early  English  capi- 
tals is,  indeed,  part  of  a  general  system  of  attempts  at  exag- 
gerated force  of  effect,  like  the  "  black  touches  "  of  second-rate 
draughtsmen  which  I  have  noticed  as  characteristic  of  nearly 
all  northern  work,  associated  with  the  love  of  the  grotesque  : 
but  the  main  section  of  the  capital  is  indeed  a  dripstone  rolled 
round,  as  above  described  ;  and  dripstone  sections  are  con- 
tinually found  in  northern  work,  where  not  only  they  cannot 
increase  force  of  effect,  but  are  entirely  invisible  except  on 
close  examination  ;  as,  for  instance,  under  the  uppermost  range 
of  stones  of  the  foundation  of  Whitehall,  or  under  the  slope  of 
the  restored  base  of  All  Souls  College,  Oxford,  under  the  level 
of  the  eye.  I  much  doubt  if  any  of  the  Fellows  be  aware  of 
its  existence. 

Many  readers  will  be  surprised  and  displeased  by  the  dis- 
paragement of  the  early  English  capital.  That  capital  has, 
indeed,  one  character  of  considerable  value  ;  namely,  the  bold- 
ness with  which  it  stops  the  mouldings  which  fall  upon  it,  and 
severs  them  from  the  shaft,  contrasting  itself  with  the  multi- 
plicity of  their  vertical  lines.  Sparingly  used,  or  seldom  seen, 
it  is  thus,  in  its  place,  not  unpleasing  ;  and  we  English  love  it 
from  association,  it  being  always  found  in  connection  with  our 


408 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


purest  and  loveliest  Gothic  arches,  and  never  in  multitudes 
large  enough  to  satiate  the  eye  with  its  form.  The  reader 
who  sits  in  the  Temple  church  every  Sunday,  and  sees  no 
architecture  during  the  week  but  that  of  Chancery  Lane,  may 
most  justifiably  quarrel  with  me  for  what  I  have  said  of  it. 
But  if  every  house  in  Fleet  Street  or  Chancery  Lane  were 
Gothic,  and  all  had  early  English  capitals,  I  would  answer  for 
his  making  peace  with  me  in  a  fortnight. 

19.   TOMBS  NEAR  ST.  ANASTASIA. 

Whose  they  are,  is  of  little  consequence  to  the  reader  or  o 
me,  and  I  have  taken  no  pains  to  discover  ;  their  value  being 
not  in  any  evidence  they  bear  respecting  dates,  but  in  their 
intrinsic  merit  as  examples  of  composition.  Two  of  them  are 
within  the  gate,  one  on  the  top  of  it,  and  this  latter  is  on  the 
whole  the  best,  though  all  are  beautiful  ;  uniting  the  intense 
northern  energy  in  their  figure  sculpture  with  the  most  serene 
classical  restraint  in  their  outlines,  and  unaffected,  but  mas- 
culine simplicity  of  construction. 

I  have  not  put  letters  to  the  diagram  of  the  lateral  arch  at 
page  158,  in  order  not  to  interfere  with  the  clearness  of  the 
curves,  but  I  shall  always  express  the  same  points  by  the  same 
letters,  whenever  I  have  to  give  measures  of  arches  of  this 
simple  kind,  so  that  the  reader  need  never  have  the  diagrams 
lettered  at  all.  The  base  or  span  of  the  centre  arch  will 
always  be  a  b  ;  its  vertex  will  always  be  V  ;  the  points  of  the 
cusps  will  be  c  c ;  p  p  will  be  the  bases  of  perpendiculars  let 
fall  from  V  and  c  on  a  b  ;  and  d  the  base  of  a  perpendicular 
from  the  point  of  the  cusp  to  the  arch  line.  Then  a  b  will 
always  be  a  span  of  the  arch,  V  p  its  perpendicular  height,  V 
a  the  chord  of  its  side  arcs,  d  c  the  depth  of  its  cusps,  c  c  the 
horizontal  interval  between  the  cusps,  a  c  the  length  of  the 
chord  of  the  lower  arc  of  the  cusp,  V  c  the  length  of  the  chord 
of  the  upper  arc  of  the  cusp,  (whether  continuous  or  not,)  and 
o  p  the  length  of  a  perpendicular  from  the  point  of  the  cusp 
on  a  b. 

Of  course  we  do  not  want  all  these  measures  for  a  single 
arch,  but  it  often  happens  that  some  of  them  are  attainable 


APPENDIX. 


409 


more  easily  than  others  ;  some  are  often  unattainable  al- 
together, and  it  is  necessary  therefore  to  have  expressions  for 
whichever  we  may  be  able  to  determine. 

V  p  or  V  a,  a  b,  and  d  c  are  always  essential ;  then  either  a 
c  and  V  c  or  c  c  and  c  p :  when  I  have  my  choice,  I  always 
take  a  b,  V  p,  d  c,  c  c,  and  c  p,  but  c  p  is  not  to  be  generally 
obtained  so  accurately  as  the  cusp  arcs. 

The  measures  of  the  present  arch  are  : 

Ft.  In. 
a  b}    3  „  8 

Vp,  4„0 

Vc,  2„4i 

ac,  2„0i 

dc,  0„3£ 

20.   SHAFTS  OF  DUCAL  PALACE. 

The  shortness  of  the  thicker  ones  at  the  angles  is  induced 
by  the  greater  depth  of  the  enlarged  capitals  :  thus  the  36th 
shaft  is  10  ft.  4^-  in.  in  circumference  at  its  base,  and  10  ,,  0^  * 
in  circumference  under  the  fillet  of  its  capital ;  but  it  is  only 
6  ,,  If  high,  while  the  minor  intermediate  shafts,  of  which  the 
thickest  is  7  ,,  8  round  at  the  base,  and  7  ,,  4  under  capital, 
are  yet  on  the  average  7  7  high.  The  angle  shaft  towards 
the  sea  (the  18th)  is  nearly  of  the  proportions  of  the  36th,  and 
there  are  three  others,  the  15th,  24th,  and  26th,  which  are 
thicker  than  the  rest,  though  not  so  thick  as  the  angle  ones. 
The  24th  and  26th  have  both  party  walls  to  bear,  and  I 
imagine  the  15th  must  in  old  time  have  carried  another, 
reaching  across  what  is  now  the  Sala  del  Gran  Consiglio. 

They  measure  respectively  round  at  the  base, 

The  15th,  8  „  2 
24th,  9  „  6| 
26th,  8  „  0i 

*  I  shall  often  have  occasion  to  write  measures  in  the  current  text^ 
therefore  the  reader  will  kindly  understand  that  whenever  they  are  thus 
written,  2  2,  with  double  commas  between^  the  first  figures  stand  for 
English  feet,  the  second  for  English  inches. 


410 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


The  other  pillars  towards  the  sea,  and  those  to  the  27th  in* 
elusive  of  the  Piazzetta,  are  all  seven  feet  round  at  the  base, 
and  then  there  is  a  most  curious  and  delicate  crescendo  oi 
circumference  to  the  36th,  thus  ; 


The  shafts  of  the  upper  arcade,  which  are  above  these 
thicker  columns,  are  also  thicker  than  their  companions, 
measuring  on  the  average,  4  „  8^  in  circumference,  while  those 
of  the  sea  facade,  except  the  29th,  average  4  „  7£  in  circum- 
ference. The  29th,  wrhich  is  of  course  above  the  15th  of 
the  lower  story,  is  5  ,,  5  in  circumference,  which  little  piece 
of  evidence  will  be  of  no  small  value  to  us  by-and-by.  The 
35th  carries  the  angle  of  the  palace,  and  is  6  „  0  round.  The 
47th,  wrhich  comes  above  the  24th  and  carries  the  party  wall 
of  the  Sala  del  Gran  Consiglio,  is  strengthened  by  a  pilaster  ; 
and  the  51st,  which  comes  over  the  26th,  is  5  ,,  4^  round, 
or  nearly  the  same  as  the  29th  ;  it  carries  the  party  wall  of 
the  Sala  del  Scrutinio  ;  a  small  room  containing  part  of  Sfc. 
Mark's  library,  coming  between  the  two  saloons ;  a  room 
which,  in  remembrance  of  the  help  I  have  received  in  all  my 
inquiries  from  the  kindness  and  intelligence  of  its  usual  oc- 
cupant, I  shall  never  easily  distinguish  otherwise  than  as  "  Mr. 
Lorenzi's."  * 

I  may  as  well  connect  with  these  notes  respecting  the  ar- 
cades of  the  Ducal  Palace,  those  which  refer  to  Plate  XIV., 
which  represents  one  of  its  spandrils.  Every  spandril  of  the 
lower  arcade  was  intended  to  have  been  occupied  by  an  orna- 
ment resembling  the  one  given  in  that  plate.  The  mass  of  the 
building  being  of  Istrian  stone,  a  depth  of  about  two  inches 
is  left  within  the  mouldings  of  the  arches,  rough  hewn,  to 

*  I  cannot  suffer  this  volume  to  close  without  also  thanking  my  kind 
friend,  Mr.  Kawdon  Brown,  for  help  given  me  in  a  thousand  ways  dur« 
ing  my  stay  in  Venice  :  but  chiefly  for  his  direction  to  passages  elucidar 
tory  of  my  subject  in  the  MSS.  of  St.  Mark's  library. 


The  28th,  7  „  3 


The  33rd,   7  „  6 


29th,  7  „  4 
30th,  7  „  6 
31st,  7  „  7 
32nd  7  „  5 


34th,  7  „  8 
35th,  7  „  8 
36th,  10  „  4i 


APPENDIX. 


411 


receive  the  slabs  of  fine  marble  composing  the  patterns.  I 
cannot  say  whether  the  design  was  ever  completed,  or  the  mar- 
bles have  been  since  removed,  but  there  are  now  only  two 
spandrils  retaining  their  fillings,  and  vestiges  of  them  in  a 
third.  The  two  complete  spandrils  are  on  the  sea  facade, 
above  the  3rd  and  10th  capitals  (vide  method  of  numbering, 
Chap.  I.,  page  44)  ;  that  is  to  say,  connecting  the  2nd  arch 
with  the  3rd,  and  the  9th  with  the  10th.  The  latter  is  the 
one  given  in  Plate  XIV.  The  white  portions  of  it  are  all 
white  marble,  the  dentil  band  surrounding  the  circle  is  in 
coarse  sugary  marble,  which  I  believe  to  be  Greek,  and  never 
found  in  Venice  to  my  recollection,  except  in  work  at  least 
anterior  to  the  fifteenth  century.  The  shaded  fields  charged 
with  the  three  white  triangles  are  of  red  Verona  marble  ;  the 
inner  disc  is  green  serpentine,  and  the  dark  pieces  of  the  ra- 
diating leaves  are  grey  marble.  The  three  triangles  are  equi- 
lateral. The  two  uppermost  are  1  „  5  each  side,  and  the 
lower  1  „  2. 

The  extreme  diameter  of  the  circle  is  3  „  10^ ;  its  field  is 
slightly  raised  above  the  red  marbles,  as  shown  in  the  section 
at  A,  on  the  left.  A  a  is  part  of  the  red  marble  field  ;  a  b  the 
section  of  the  dentil  moulding  let  into  it;  b  c  the  entire 
breadth  of  the  rayed  zone,  represented  on  the  other  side  of 
the  spandril  by  the  line  C  /;  c  d  is  the  white  marble  band 
let  in,  with  the  dog-tooth  on  the  face  of  it ;  b  c  is  7f  inches 
across  ;  c  d  3f ;  and  at  B  are  given  two  joints  of  the  dentil 
(mentioned  above,  in  the  chapter  on  dentils,  as  unique  in 
Venice)  of  their  actual  size.  At  C  is  given  one  of  the  inlaid 
leaves ;  its  measure  being  (in  inches)  C  -f  7$ ;  C  /&  f  ;  /  #  f  ; 
f  e  4|,  the  base  of  the  smaller  leaves  being  of  course  f  e  — 
f  g  cs  4.  The  pattern  which  occupies  the  other  spandril  is 
similar,  except  that  the  field  b  c,  instead  of  the  intersecting 
arcs,  has  only  triangles  of  grey  marble,  arranged  like  rays, 
with  their  bases  towards  the  centre.  There  being  twenty 
round  the  circle,  the  reader  can  of  course  draw  them  for  him- 
self ;  they  being  isosceles,  touching  the  dentil  with  their 
points,  and  being  in  contact  at  their  bases  :  it  has  lost  its 
central  boss.    The  marbles  are,  in  both,  covered  with  a  rusty 


412 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


coating,  through  which  it  is  excessively  difficult  to  distinguish 
the  colors  (another  proof  of  the  age  of  the  ornament).  But 
the  white  marbles  are  certainly,  in  places  (except  only  the 
sugary  dentil),  veined  with  purple,  and  the  grey  seem  warmed 
with  green. 

A  trace  of  another  of  these  ornaments  may  be  seen  over  the 
21st  capital ;  but  I  doubt  if  the  marbles  have  ever  been  in- 
serted in  the  other  spandrils,  and  their  want  of  ornament  oc- 
casions the  slight  meagreness  in  the  effect  of  the  lower  story, 
which  is  almost  the  only  fault  of  the  building. 

This  decoration  by  discs,  or  shield-like  ornaments,  is  a 
marked  characteristic  of  Venetian  architecture  in  its  earlier 
ages,  and  is  carried  into  later  times  by  the  Byzantine  Eenais- 
sance,  already  distinguished  from  the  more  corrupt  forms  of 
Eenaissance,  in  Appendix  6.  Of  the  disc  decoration,  so  bor- 
rowed, we  have  already  an  example  in  Plate  I.  In  Plate  VEL 
we  have  an  earlier  condition  of  it,  one  of  the  discs  being  there 
sculptured,  the  others  surrounded  by  sculptured  bands  :  here 
we  have,  on  the  Ducal  Palace,  the  most  characteristic  of  all, 
because  likest  to  the  shield,  which  was  probably  the  origin  of 
the  same  ornament  among  the  Arabs,  and  assuredly  among 
the  Greeks.  In  Mr.  Donaldson's  restoration  of  the  gate  of 
the  treasury  of  Atreus,  this  ornament  is  conjecturally  em- 
ployed, and  it  occurs  constantly  on  the  Arabian  buildings  of 
Cairo. 

21.   ANCIENT   REPRESENTATIONS    OF  WATER. 

I  have  long  been  desirous  of  devoting  some  time  to  an  en- 
quiry into  the  effect  of  natural  scenery  upon  the  pagan,  and 
especially  the  Greek,  mind,  and  knowing  that  my  friend,  Mr. 
C.  Newton,  had  devoted  much  thought  to  the  elucidation  of 
the  figurative  and  symbolic  language  of  ancient  art,  I  asked 
him  to  draw  up  for  me  a  few  notes  of  the  facts  which  he  con- 
sidered most  interesting,  as  illustrative  of  its  methods  of  rep- 
resenting nature.  I  suggested  to  him,  for  an  initiative  subject, 
the  representation  of  water ;  because  this  is  one  of  the  natural 
objects  whose  portraiture  may  most  easily  be  made  a  test  of 
treatment,  for  it  is  one  of  universal  interest,  and  of  more 


APPENDIX. 


closely  similar  aspect  in  all  parts  of  the  world  than  any  other. 
Waves,  currents,  and  eddies  are  much  liker  each  other,  every- 
where, than  either  land  or  vegetation.  Rivers  and  lakes,  in- 
deed, differ  widely  from  the  sea,  and  the  clear  Pacific  from 
the  angry  Northern  ocean  ;  but  the  Nile  is  liker  the  Danube 
than  a  knot  of  Nubian  palms  is  to  a  glade  of  the  Black  Forest ; 
and  the  Mediterranean  is  liker  the  Atlantic  than  the  Campo 
Felice  is  like  Solway  moss. 

Mr.  Newton  has  accordingly  most  kindly  furnished  me  with 
the  following  data.  One  or  two  of  the  types  which  he  describes 
have  been  already  noticed  in  the  main  text ;  but  it  is  well  that 
the  reader  should  again  contemplate  them  in  the  position  which 
they  here  occupy  in  a  general  system.  I  recommend  his  spe- 
cial attention  to  Mr.  Newton's  definitions  of  the  terms  "  figu- 
rative "and  "  symbolic,"  as  applied  to  art,  in  the  beginning  of 
the  paper. 


In  ancient  art,  that  is  to  say,  in  the  art  of  the  Egyptian, 
Assyrian,  Greek,  and  Roman  races,  water  is,  for  the  most  part, 
repi*esented  conventionally  rather  than  naturally. 

By  natural  representation  is  here  meant  as  just  and  perfect 
an  imitation  of  nature  as  the  technical  means  of  art  will  allow : 
on  the  other  hand,  representation  is  said  to  be  conventional, 
either  when  a  confessedly  inadequate  imitation  is  accepted  in 
default  of  a  better,  or  when  imitation  is  not  attempted  at  all, 
and  it  is  agreed  that  other  modes  of  representation,  those  by 
figures  or  by  symbols,  shall  be  its  substitute  and  equivalent. 

In  figurative  representation  there  is  always  impersonation  ; 
the  sensible  form,  borrowed  by  the  artist  from  organic  life,  is 
conceived  to  be  actuated  by  a  will,  and  invested  with  such 
mental  attributes  as  constitute  personality. 

The  sensible  symbol,  whether  borrowed  from  organic  or 
from  inorganic  nature,  is  not  a  personification  at  all,  but  the 
conventional  sign  or  equivalent  of  some  object  or  notion,  to 
which  it  may  perhaps  bear  no  visible  resemblance,  but  with 
which  the  intellect  or  the  imagination  has  in  some  way  asso- 
ciated it. 

For  instance,  a  city  may  be  figuratively  represented  as  a 


414 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


woman  crowned  with  towers  ;  here  the  artist  has  selected  for 
the  expression  of  his  idea  a  human  form  animated  with  a  will 
and  motives  of  action  analogous  to  those  of  humanity  gener- 
ally. Or,  again,  as  in  Greek  art,  a  bull  may  be  a  figurative  rep- 
resentation of  a  river,  and,  in  the  conception  of  the  artist,  this 
animal  form  may  contain,  and  be  ennobled  by,  a  human  mind 

This  is  still  impersonation  ;  the  form  only  in  which  person- 
ality is  embodied  is  changed. 

Again,  a  dolphin  may  be  used  as  a  symbol  of  the  sea ;  a 
man  ploughing  with  two  oxen  is  a  well-known  symbol  of  a 
Koman  colony.  In  neither  of  these  instances  is  there  imper- 
sonation. The  dolphin  is  not  invested,  like  the  figure  of 
Neptune,  with  any  of  the  attributes  of  the  human  mind  ;  it 
has  animal  instincts,  but  no  will ;  it  represents  to  us  its  native 
element,  only  as  a  part  may  be  taken  for  a  whole. 

Again,  the  man  ploughing  does  not,  like  the  turreted  female 
figure,  personify,  but  rather  typifies  the  town,  standing  as  the 
visible  representation  of  a  real  event,  its  first  foundation.  To 
our  mental  perceptions,  as  to  our  bodily  senses,  this  figure 
seems  no  more  than  man  ;  there  is  no  blending  of  his  personal 
nature  with  the  impersonal  nature  of  the  colony,  no  transfer 
of  attributes  from  the  one  to  the  other. 

Though  the  conventionally  imitative,  the  figurative,  and  the 
symbolic,  are  three  distinct  kinds  of  representation,  they  are 
constantly  combined  in  one  composition,  as  we  shall  see  in 
the  following  examples,  cited  from  the  art  of  successive  races 
in  chronological  order. 

In  Egyptian  art  the  general  representation  of  water  is  the 
conventionally  imitative.  In  the  British  Museum  are  two  fres- 
coes from  tombs  at  Thebes,  Nos.  177  and  170  :  the  subject  of 
the  first  of  these  is  an  oblong  pond,  ground- plan  and  elevation 
being  strangely  confused  in  the  design.  In  this  pond  water 
is  represented  by  parallel  zigzag  lines,  in  which  fish  are  swim- 
ming about.  On  the  surface  are  birds  and  lotos  flowers  ;  the 
herbage  at  the  edge  of  the  pond  is  represented  by  a  border  of 
symmetrical  fan-shaped  flowers  ;  the  field  beyond  by  rows  of 
trees,  arranged  round  the  sides  of  the  pond  at  right  angles  to 
each  other,  and  in  defiance  of  all  laws  of  perspective. 


APPENDIX. 


415 


In  the  fresco,  No.  170,  we  have  the  representation  of  a  river 
with  papyrus  on  its  bank.  Here  the  water  is  rendered  by 
zigzag  lines  arranged  vertically  and  in  parallel  lines,  so  as 
to  resemble  herring-bone  masonry,  thus. 
There  are  fish  in  this  fresco  as  in  the  pre- 
ceding, and  in  both  each  fish  is  drawn  very 
distinctly,  not  as  it  would  appear  to  the 

eye  viewed  through  water.    The  mode  of 
J  .        , ,      i  -n       •  FlG-  lxxi. 

representing   this   element    m  Egyptian 

painting  is  further  abbreviated  in  their  hieroglyphic  writing, 
where  the  sign  of  water  is  a  zigzag  line  ;  this  line  is,  so  to 
speak,  a  picture  of  water  written  in  short  hand.  In  the  Egyp- 
tian Pantheon  there  was  but  one  aquatic  deity,  the  god  of  the 
Nile  ;  his  type  is,  therefore,  the  only  figurative  representation 
of  water  in  Egyptian  art.  (Birch,  "  Gallery  of  British  Museum 
Antiquities,"  PI.  13.)  In  Assyrian  sculpture  we  have  very  cu- 
rious conventionally  imitative  representations  of  water.  On 
several  of  the  friezes  from  Nimroud  and  Khorsabad,  men  are 
seen  crossing  a  river  in  boats,  or  in  skins,  accompanied  by 
horses  swimming  (see  Layard,  ii.  p.  381).  In  these  scenes  water 
is  represented  by  masses  of  wavy  lines  somewhat  resembling 
tresses  of  hair,  and  terminating  in  curls  or  volutes  ;  these  wavy 
lines  express  the  general  character  of  a  deep  and  rapid  current, 
like  that  of  the  Tigris.  Fish  are  but  sparingly  introduced,  the 
idea  of  surface  being  sufficiently  expressed  by  the  floating 
figures  and  boats.  In  the  representation  of  these  there  is  the 
same  want  of  perspective  as  in  the  Egyptian  fresco  which  we 
have  just  cited. 

In  the  Assyrian  Pantheon  one  aquatic  deity  has  been  diso 
covered,  the  god  Dagon,  whose  human  form  terminates  in  a 
fish's  tail.  Of  the  character  and  attributes  of  this  deity  we 
know  but  little. 

The  more  abbreviated  mode  of  representing  water,  the  zig- 
zag line,  occurs  on  the  large  silver  coins  with  the  type  of  a 
city  or  a  war  galley  (see  Layard,  ii.  p.  386).  These  coins  were 
probably  struck  in  Assyria,  not  long  after  the  conquest  of  it 
by  the  Persians. 

In  Greek  art  the  modes  of  representing  water  are  far  more 


416 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


varied.  Two  conventional  imitations,  the  wave  moulding  and 
the  Maeander,  are  well  known.  Both  are  probably  of  the  most 
remote  antiquity  ;  both  have  been  largely  employed  as  an 
architectural  ornament,  and  subordinately  as  a  decoration  of 
vases,  costume,  furniture  and  implements.  In  the  wave  mould- 
ing we  have  a  conventional  representation  of  the  small  crisp- 
ing waves  which  break  upon  the  shore  of  the  Mediterranean, 
the  sea  of  the  Greeks. 

Their  regular  succession,  and  equality  of  force  and  volume, 
are  generalised  in  this  moulding,  while  the  minuter  varieties 
which  distinguish  one  wave  from  another  are  merged  in  the 
general  type.  The  character  of  ocean  waves  is  to  be  "for  ever 
changing,  yet  the  same  for  ever  ; "  it  is  this  eternity  of  recur- 
rence wThich  the  early  artist  has  expressed  in  this  hiero- 
glyphic. 

With  this  profile  representation  of  water  may  be  compared 
the  sculptured  waves  out  of  which  the  head  and  arms  of  Hype- 
rion are  rising  in  the  pediment  of  the  Parthenon  (Elgin  Room, 
No.  (65)  91,  Museum  Marbles,  vi.  pi.  1).  Phidias  has  repre- 
sented these  waves  like  a  mass  of  overlapping  tiles,  thus  gen- 
eralising their  rippling  movement.  In  the  Mseander  pattern 
the  graceful  curves  of  nature  are  represented  by  angles,  as  in 
the  Egyptian  hieroglyphic  of  water  :  so  again  the  earliest  rep- 
resentation of  the  labyrinth  on  the  coins  of  the  Cnossus  is 
rectangular  ;  on  later  coins  we  find  the  curvilinear  form  intro- 
duced. 

In  the  language  of  Greek  mythography,  the  wave  pattern 
and  the  Maeander  are  sometimes  used  singly  for  the  idea  of 
water,  but  more  frequently  combined  with  figurative  represen- 
tation. The  number  of  aquatic  deities  in  the  Greek  Pantheon 
led  to  the  invention  of  a  great  variety  of  beautiful  types. 
Some  of  these  are  very  well  known.  Everybody  is  familiar 
with  the  general  form  of  Poseidon  (Neptune),  the  Nereids, 
the  Nymphs  and  River  Gods  ;  but  the  modes  in  which  these 
types  were  combined  with  conventional  imitation  and  with 
accessory  symbols  deserve  careful  study,  if  we  would  appre- 
ciate the  surpassing  richness  and  beauty  of  the  language  of 
^rt  formed  out  of  these  elements. 


APPENDIX. 


41? 


This  class  of  representations  may  be  divided  into  two  princi- 
pal groups,  those  relating  to  the  sea,  and  those  relating  to  fresh 
water. 

The  power  of  the  ocean  and  the  great  features  of  marine 
scenery  are  embodied  in  such  types  as  Poseidon,  Nereus  and 
the  Nereids,  that  is  to  say,  in  human  forms  moving  through  the 
liquid  element  in  chariots,  or  on  the  back  of  dolphins,  or  who 
combine  the  human  form  with  that  of  the  fish-like  Tritons. 
The  sea-monsters  who  draw  these  chariots  are  called  Hippo- 
camps,  being  composed  of  the  tail  of  a  fish  and  the  fore-part 
of  a  horse,  the  legs  terminating  in  web -feet :  this  union  seems 
to  express  speed  and  power  under  perfect  control,  such  as 
would  characterise  the  movements  of  sea  deities.  A  few  ex- 
amples have  been  here  selected  to  show  how  these  types  were 
combined  with  symbols  and  conventional  imitation. 

In  the  British  Museum  is  a  vase,  No.  1257,  engraved  (Lenor- 
mant  et  De  Witte,  Mon.  Ceram.,  i.  pi.  27),  of  which  the  sub- 
ject is,  Europa  crossing  the  sea  on  the  back  of  the  bull.  In  this 
design  the  sea  is  represented  by  a  variety  of  expedients. 
First,  the  swimming  action  of  the  bull  suggests  the  idea  of 
the  liquid  medium  through  which  he  moves.  Behind  him 
stands  Nereus,  his  staff  held  perpendicularly  in  his  hand  ;  the 
top  of  his  staff  comes  nearly  to  the  level  of  the  bull's  back,  and 
is  probably  meant  as  the  measure  of  the  whole  depth  of  the 
sea.  Towards  the  surface  line  thus  indicated  a  dolphin  is  ris- 
ing ;  in  the  middle  depth  is  another  dolphin  ;  below  a  shrimp 
and  a  cuttle-fish,  and  the  bottom  is  indicated  by  a  jagged  line 
of  rocks,  on  which  are  two  echini. 

On  a  mosaic  found  at  Oudnah  in  Algeria  (Revue  Archeol., 
iii.  pi.  50),  we  have  a  representation  of  the  sea,  remarkable  for 
the  fulness  of  details  with  which  it  is  made  out. 

This,  though  of  the  Roman  period,  is  so  thoroughly  Greek 
in  feeling,  that  it  may  be  cited  as  an  example  of  the  class  of 
mythography  now  under  consideration.  The  mosaic  lines  the 
floor  and  sides  of  a  bath,  and,  as  was  commonly  the  case  in 
the  baths  of  the  ancients,  serves  as  a  figurative  representation 
of  the  water  it  contained. 

On  the  sides  are  hippocamps,  figures  riding  on  dolphins, 
Vol.  I. —27 

^ 


418 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


and  islands  on  which  fishermen  stand ;  on  the  floor  are  fish, 
crabs,  and  shrimps. 

These,  as  in  the  vase  with  Europa,  indicate  the  bottom  of 
the  sea  :  the  same  symbols  of  the  submarine  world  appear  on 
many  other  ancient  designs.  Thus  in  vase  pictures,  when 
Poseidon  upheaves  the  island  of  Cos  to  overwhelm  the  Giant 
Poly  dotes,  the  island  is  represented  as  an  immense  mass  of 
rock  ;  the  parts  which  have  been  under  water  are  indicated  by 
a  dolphin,  a  shrimp,  and  a  sepia,  the  parts  above  the  water  by 
a  goat  and  a  serpent  (Lenormant  et  De  Witte,  i.,  tav.  5). 

Sometimes  these  symbols  occur  singly  in  Greek  art,  as  the 
types,  for  instance,  of  coins.  In  such  cases  they  cannot  be  in- 
terpreted without  being  viewed  in  relation  to  the  whole  con- 
text of  mythography  to  which  they  belong.  If  we  find,  for 
example,  on  one  coin  of  Tarentum  a  shell,  on  another  a  dol- 
phin, on  a  third  a  figure  of  Tarus,  the  mythic  founder  of  the 
town,  riding  on  a  dolphin  in  the  midst  of  the  waves,  and  this 
latter  group  expresses  the  idea  of  the  town  itself  and  its  posi- 
tion on  the  coast,  then  we  know  the  two  former  types  to  b 
but  portions  of  the  greater  design,  having  been  detached  from 
it,  as  we  may  detach  words  from  sentences. 

The  study  of  the  fuller  and  clearer  examples,  such  m  we 
have  cited  above,  enables  us  to  explain  many  more  compendi- 
ous forms  of  expression.  We  have,  for  instance,  on  coins 
several  representations  of  ancient  harbors. 

Of  these,  the  earliest  occurs  on  the  coins  of  Zancle,  the 
modern  Messina  in  Sicily.  The  ancients  likened  the  form  of 
this  harbor  to  a  sickle,  and  on  the  coins  of  the  town  we  find 
a  curved  object,  within  the  area  of  which  is  a  dolphin.  On 
this  curve  are  four  square  elevations  placed  at  equal  distances, 
It  has  been  conjectured  that  these  projections  are  either  towers 
or  the  large  stones  to  which  galleys  were  moored  still  to  be 
seen  in  ancient  harbors  (see  Burgon,  Numismatic  Chronicle, 
iii.  p.  40).  With  this  archaic  representation  of  a  harbor  may 
be  compared  some  examples  of  the  Roman  period.  On  a  coin 
of  Sept.  Severus  struck  at  Corinth  (Millingen,  Sylloge  of 
Uned.  Coins,  1837,  p.  57,  PI.  II.  No.  30)  we  have  a  female  fig- 
are  standing  on  a  rock  between  two  recumbent  male  figure* 


APPENDIX. 


419 


holding  rudders.  From  an  arch  at  the  foot  of  the  rock  a 
stream  is  flowing  :  this  is  a  representation  of  the  rock  of  the 
Acropolis  of  Corinth  ;  the  female  figure  is  a  statue  of  Aphro- 
dite, whose  temple  surmounted  the  rock.  The  stream  is  the 
fountain  Pirene.  The  two  recumbent  figures  are  impersona- 
tions of  the  two  harbors,  Lechreum  and  Cenchreia,  between 
which  Corinth  was  situated.  Philostratus  (Icon,  ii.,  c.  16)  de- 
scribes a  similar  picture  of  the  Isthmus  between  the  two  harbors, 
one  of  which  was  in  the  form  of  a  youth,  the  other  of  a  nymph. 

On  another  coin  of  Corinth  we  have  one  of  the  harbors  in  a 
semicircular  form,  the  whole  arc  being  marked  with  small 
equal  divisions,  to  denote  the  archways  under  which  the  an- 
cient galleys  were  drawn,  subductce  ;  at  the  either  horn  or  ex- 
tremity of  the  harbor  is  a  temple  ;  in  the  centre  of  the  mouth, 
a  statue  of  Neptune.  (Millingen,  Medailles  Ined.,  PI.  II.,  No. 
19.  Compare  also  Millingen,  Ancient  Coins  of  Cities  and 
Kings,  1831,  pp.  50—61,  PI.  IV.,  No.  15  ;  Mionnet,  Suppl. 
vii.  p.  79,  No.  246  ;  and  the  harbor  of  Ostium,  on  the  large 
brass  coins  of  Nero,  in  which  thei*e  is  a  representation  of  the 
Roman  fleet  and  a  reclining  figure  of  Neptune.) 

In  vase  pictures  we  have  occasionally  an  attempt  to  represent 
water  naturally.  On  a  vase  in  the  British  Museum  (No.  785), 
of  which  the  subject  is  Ulysses  and  the  Sirens,  the  Sea  is  ren- 
dered by  wavy  lines  drawn  in  black  on  a  red  ground,  and 
something  like  the  effect  of  light  playing  on  the  surface  of  the 
water  is  given.  On  each  side  of  the  ship  are  shapeless  masses 
of  rock  on  which  the  Sirens  stand. 

One  of  the  most  beautiful  of  the  figurative  representations 
of  the  sea  is  the  well-known  type  of  Scylla.  She  has  a  beau- 
tiful body,  terminating  in  two  barking  dogs  and  two  serpent 
tails.  Sometimes  drowning  men,  the  rari  nantes  in  gurgite 
vasto,  appear  caught  up  in  the  coils  of  these  tails.  Below  are 
dolphins.  Scylla  generally  brandishes  a  rudder  to  show  the 
manner  in  which  she  twists  the  course  of  ships.  For  varieties 
of  her  type  see  Monum.  dell'  Inst.  Archeol.  Bom.,  iii.  Taw. 
52—3. 

The  representations  of  fresh  water  may  be  arranged  under 
the  following  heads — rivers,  lakes,  fountains. 


420 


THE  STONES  OF  VEX1CW. 


There  are  several  figurative  modes  of  representing  rivers 
very  frequently  employed  in  ancient  myelography. 

In  the  type  which  occurs  earliest  we  have  the  human  form 
combined  with  that  of  the  bull  in  several  ways.  On  an  archaid 
coin  of  Metapontum  in  Lueania,  (see  frontispiece  to  Millingen, 
Ancient  Coins  of  Greek  Cities  and  Kings,)  the  river  Achelous 
is  represented  with  the  figure  of  a  man  with  a  shaggy  beard 
and  bull's  horns  and  ears.  On  a  vase  of  the  best  period  of 
Greek  art  (Brit.  Mus.  No.  789  ;  Birch,  Trans.  Boy.  Soc.  of 
Lit.,  New  Series,  Lond.  1843,  i.  p.  100)  the  same  river  is  rep- 
resented with  a  satyr's  head  and  long  bull's  horns  on  the  fore- 
head ;  his  form,  human  to  the  waist,  terminates  in  a  fish's  tail ; 
his  hair  falls  down  his  back  ;  his  beard  is  long  and  shaggy. 
In  this  type  we  see  a  combination  of  the  three  forms  sepa- 
rately enumerated  by  Sophocles,  in  the  commencement  of  tha 
Trachinise. 

05  fi  iv  rpicrlv  fioptfxiLcnv  cfrfrct  iraTpo^ 
<f>OLT(x)V  ivapyrjs  avpos  aXXor  acdAos, 
8pai«DV  ikiKTos,  oXXot   ai/Speia>  kvt^I 
(Bovrrpypos,  ck  Sc  Bclcklov  yci/ceaSos 

KpOVVOl  SieppaLVOVTO  KprjVCLLOV  7TOTOV. 

In  a  third  variety  of  this  type  the  human-headed  body  is 
united  at  the  waist  with  the  shoulders  of  a  bull's  body,  in 
which  it  terminates.  This  occurs  on  an  early  vase.  (Brit. 
Mus.,  No.  452.)  On  the  coins  of  (Eniadse  in  Acarnia>  and  on 
those  of  Ambracia,  all  of  the  period  after  Alexander  the  Great, 
the  Achelous  has  a  bull's  body,  and  head  with  a  human  face. 
In  this  variety  of  the  type  the  human  element  is  almost  ab* 
sorbed,  as  in  the  first  variety  cited  above,  the  coin  of  Meta 
pontum,  the  bull  portion  of  the  type  is  only  indicated  by  the 
addition  of  the  horns  and  ears  to  the  human  head.  On  the 
analogy  between  these  varieties  in  the  type  of  the  Achelous  and 
those  under  which  the  metamorphoses  of  the  marine  goddess 
Thetis  are  represented,  see  Gerhard,  Auserl  Vasenb.  ii.  pp, 
106 — 113.  It  is  probable  that,  in  the  type  of  Thetis,  of  Pro- 
teus, and  also  of  the  Achelous,  the  singular  combinations  and 


APPENDIX. 


421 


transformations  are  intended  to  express  the  changeful  nat- 
ure of  the  element  water. 

Numerous  other  examples  may  be  cited,  where  rivers  are 
represented  by  this  combination  of  the  bull  and  human  form, 
which  may  be  called,  for  convenience,  the  Androtauric  type, 
On  the  coins  of  Sicily,  of  the  archaic  and  also  of  the  finest 
period  of  art,  rivers  are  most  usually  represented  by  a  youth- 
ful male  figure,  with  small  budding  horns ;  the  hair  has  the 
lank  and  matted  form  which  characterises  aquatic  deities  in 
Greek  mythography.  The  name  of  the  river  is  often  inscribed 
round  the  head.  When  the  wrhole  figure  occurs  on  the  coin, 
it  is  always  represented  standing,  never  reclining. 

The  type  of  the  bull  on  the  coins  of  Sybaris  and  Thurium, 
in  Magna  Grsecia,  has  been  considered,  with  great  probability, 
a  representation  of  this  kind.  On  the  coins  of  Sybaris,  which 
are  of  a  very  early  period,  the  head  of  the  bull  is  turned 
round  ;  on  those  of  Thurium,  he  stoops  his  head,  butting : 
the  first  of  these  actions  has  been  thought  to  symbolise  the 
winding  course  of  the  river,  the  second,  its  headlong  current. 
On  the  coins  of  Thurium,  the  idea  of  wrater  is  further  sug- 
gested by  the  adjunct  of  dolphins  and  other  fish  in  the  ex- 
ergue of  the  coin.  The  ground  on  which  the  bull  stands  is 
indicated  by  herbage  or  pebbles.  This  probably  represents 
the  river  bank.  Two  bulls'  head  occur  on  the  coins  of  Sardis, 
and  it  has  been  ingeniously  conjectured  by  Mr.  Burgon  that 
the  two  rivers  of  the  place  are  expressed  under  this  type. 

The  representation  of  river-gods  as  human  figures  in  a  re- 
clining position,  though  probably  not  so  much  employed  in 
earlier  Greek  art  as  the  Androtauric  type,  is  very  much  more 
familiar  to  us,  from  its  subsequent  adoption  in  Roman  my- 
elography. The  earliest  example  we  have  of  a  reclining  river- 
god  is  in  the  figure  in  the  Elgin  Eoom  commonly  called  the 
Ilissus,  but  more  probably  the  Cephissus.  This  occupied  one 
angle  in  the  western  pediment  of  the  Parthenon  ;  the  other 
Athenian  river,  the  Ilissus,  and  the  fountain  Callirrhoe  being 
represented  by  a  male  and  female  figure  in  the  opposite  angle  ; 
this  group,  now  destroyed,  is  visible  in  the  drawing  made  by 
Carrey  in  1678. 


422 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


It  is  probable  that  the  necessities  of  pedimental  composi 
tioii  first  led  the  artist  to  place  the  river-god  in  a  reclining 
position.  The  head  of  the  Ilissus  being  broken  off,  we  are 
not  sure  whether  he  had  bull's  horns,  like  the  Sicilian  figures 
already  described.  His  form  is  youthful,  in  the  folds  of  the 
drapery  behind  him  there  is  a  flow  like  that  of  waves,  but  the 
idea  of  water  is  not  suggested  by  any  other  symbol.  When 
we  compare  this  figure  with  that  of  the  Nile  (Visconti,  Mus. 
Pio  Clem.,  i.,  PI.  38),  apd  the  figure  of  the  Tiber  in  the 
Louvre,  both  of  which  are  of  the  Roman  period,  we  see  how 
in  these  later  types  the  artist  multiplied  symbols  and  acces- 
sories, ingrafting  them  on  the  original  simple  type  of  the 
river-god,  as  it  was  conceived  by  Phidias  in  the  figure  of  the 
Ilissus.  The  Nile  is  represented  as  a  colossal  bearded  figure 
reclining.  At  his  side  is  a  cornucopia,  full  of  the  vegetable 
produce  of  the  Egyptian  soil.  Round  his  body  are  sixteen 
naked  boys,  who  represent  the  sixteen  cubits,  the  height  to 
which  the  river  rose  in  a  favorable  year.  The  statue  is  placed 
on  a  basement  divided  into  three  compartments,  one  above 
another.  In  the  uppermost  of  these,  waves  are  flowing  over 
in  one  great  sheet  from  the  side  of  the  river-god.  In  the 
other  two  compartments  are  the  animals  and  plants  of  the 
river ;  the  bas-reliefs  on  this  basement  are,  in  fact,  a  kind  of 
abbreviated  symbolic  panorama  of  the  Nile. 

The  Tiber  is  represented  in  a  very  similar  manner.  On  the 
base  are,  in  two  compartments,  scenes  taken  from  the  early 
Roman  myths  ;  flocks,  herds,  and  other  objects  on  the  banks 
of  the  river.  (Visconti,  Mus.  P.  CI.  i.,  PI.  39  ;  Millin,  Galerie 
Mythol.,  i.  p.  77,  PI.  74,  Nos.  304,  308.) 

In  the  types  of  the  Greek  coins  of  Camarina,  we  find  two 
interesting  representations  of  Lakes.  On  the  obverse  of  one 
of  these  we  have,  within  a  circle  of  the  wave  pattern,  a  male 
head,  full  face,  with  dishevelled  hair,  and  with  a  dolphin  on 
either  side  ;  on  the  reverse  a  female  figure  sailing  on  a  swan, 
below  which  a  wave  moulding,  and  above,  a  dolphin. 

On  another  coin  the  swan  type  of  the  reverse  is  associated 
with  the  youthful  head  of  a  river-god,  inscribed  "Hipparis* 
on  the  obverse.    On  some  smaller  coins  we  have  the  swau 


APPENDIX. 


423 


flying  over  the  rippling  waves,  which  are  represented  by  the 
wave  moulding.  When  Ave  examine  the  chart  of  Sicily,  made 
by  the  Admiralty  survey,  we  find  marked  down  at  Camarina, 
a  lake  through  which  the  river  Hipparis  flows. 

We  can  hardly  doubt  that  the  inhabitants  of  Camarina  rep* 
resented  both  their  river  and  their  lakes  on  their  coins.  The 
swan  flying  over  the  waves  would  represent  a  lake  ;  the  figure 
associated  with  it  being  no  doubt  the  Aphrodite  worshipped 
at  that  place  :  the  head,  in  a  circle  of  wave  pattern,  may  ex- 
press that  part  of  the  river  which  flows  through  the  lake. 

Fountains  are  usually  represented  b}^  a  stream  of  water  issu- 
ing from  a  lion's  head  in  the  rock :  see  a  vase  (Gerhard,  AuserL 
Vasenb.,  taf.  cxxxiv.),  where  Hercules  stands,  receiving  a 
shower-bath  from  a  hot  spring  at  Thermae  in  Sicily.  On  the 
coins  of  Syracuse  the  fountain  Arethusa  is  represented  by  a 
female  head  seen  to  the  front ;  the  flowing  lines  of  her  dishev- 
elled hair  suggest,  though  they  do  not  directly  imitate,  the 
bubbling  action  of  the  fresh-water  spring  ;  the  sea  in  which 
it  rises  is  symbolized  by  the  dolphins  round  the  head.  This 
type  presents  a  striking  analogy  with  that  of  the  Camarina  head 
in  the  circle  of  wave  pattern  described  above. 

These  are  the  principal  modes  of  representing  water  in  Greek 
mythography.  In  the  art  of  the  Roman  period,  the  same  kind 
of  figurative  and  symbolic  language  is  employed,  but  there  is 
a  constant  tendency  to  multiply  accessories  and  details,  as  we 
have  shown  in  the  later  representations  of  harbors  and  river- 
gods  cited  above.  In  these  crowded  compositions  the  eye  is 
fatigued  and  distracted  by  the  quantity  it  has  to  examine  ;  the 
language  of  art  becomes  more  copious  but  less  terse  and  em- 
phatic, and  addresses  itself  to  minds  far  less  intelligent  than 
the  refined  critics  who  were  the  contemporaries  of  Phidias. 

Rivers  in  Roman  art  are  usually  represented  by  reclining 
male  figures,  generally  bearded,  holding  reeds  or  other  plants 
in  their  hands,  and  leaning  on  urns  from  which  water  is  flow- 
ing. On  the  coins  of  many  Syrian  cities,  struck  in  imperial 
times,  the  city  is  represented  by  a  turreted  female  figure  seated 
on  rocks,  and  resting  her  feet  on  the  shoulder  of  a  youthful 
male  figure,  who  looks  up  in  her  face,  stretching  out  his  arms, 


424 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


and  who  is  sunk  in  the  ground  as  high  as  the  waist.  Sea 
Miiller  (Denkmaler  d.  A.  Kunst,  i.,  taf.  49,  No  220)  for  a  group 
of  this  kind  in  the  Vatican,  and  several  similar  designs  on 
coins. 

On  the  column  of  Trajan  there  occur  many  rude  representa- 
tions of  the  Danube,  and  other  rivers  crossed  by  the  Romans 
in  their  military  expeditions.  The  water  is  imitated  by  sculpt- 
ured wavy  lines,  in  which  boats  are  placed.  In  one  scene 
(Bartoli,  Colonna  Trajana,  Tav.  4)  this  rude  conventional  imi- 
tation is  combined  with  a  figure.  In  a  recess  in  the  river 
bank  is  a  reclining  river-god,  terminating  at  the  waist.  This 
is  either  meant  for  a  statue  which  was  really  placed  on  the 
bank  of  the  river,  and  which  therefore  marks  some  particular 
locality,  or  we  have  here  figurative  representation  blended 
with  conventional  imitation. 

On  the  column  of  Antoninus  (Bartoli,  Colon.  Anton.,  Tav. 
15)  a  storm  of  rain  is  represented  by  the  head  of  Jupiter  Plu- 
vius,  who  has  a  vast  outspread  beard  flowing  in  long  tresses. 
In  the  Townley  collection,  in  the  British  Museum,  is  a  Roman 
helmet  found  at  Ribchester  in  Lancashire,  with  a  mask  or  vizor 
attached.  The  helmet  is  richly  embossed  with  figures  in  a 
battle  scene  ;  round  the  brow  is  a  row  of  turrets ;  the  hair  on 
the  forehead  is  so  treated  as  to  give  the  idea  of  waves  washing 
the  base  of  the  turrets.  This  head  is  perhaps  a  figurative  rep- 
resentation of  a  town  girt  with  fortifications  and  a  moat,  near 
which  some  great  battle  was  fought.  It  is  engraved  (Vetusta 
Monum.  of  Soc.  Ant.  London,  iv.,  PI.  1-4). 

In  the  Galeria  at  Florence  is  a  group  in  alto  relievo  (Gori, 
Inscript.  Ant.  Flor.  1727,  p.  76.  Tab.  14)  of  three  female 
figures,  one  of  whom  is  certainly  Demeter  Kourotrophos,  or 
the  earth  ;  another,  Thetis,  or  the  sea  ;  the  centre  of  the  three 
seems  to  represent  Aphrodite  associated,  as  on  the  coins  of 
Camarina,  with  the  element  of  fresh  water. 

This  figure  is  seated  on  a  swan,  and  holds  over  her  head  an 
arched  veil.  Her  hair  is  bound  with  reeds  ;  above  her  veil 
grows  a  tall  water  plant,  and  below  the  swan  other  watef 
plants,  and  a  stork  seated  on  a  hydria,  or  pitcher,  from  which 
water  is  flowing.    The  swan,  the  stork,  the  water  plants,  and 


APPENDIX. 


425 


the  hydria  must  all  be  regarded  as  symbols  of  fresh  water,  the 
latter  emblem  being  introduced  to  show  that  the  element  is 
fit  for  the  use  of  man. 

Fountains  in  Boman  art  are  generally  personified  as  figures 
of  nymphs  reclining  with  urns,  or  standing  holding  before 
them  a  large  shell. 

One  of  the  latest  representations  of  water  in  ancient  art  is 
the  mosaic  of  Palestrina  (Barthelemy,  in  Bartoli,  Peint.  An- 
tiques) which  may  be  described  as  a  kind  of  rude  panorama 
of  some  district  of  Upper  Egypt,  a  birds-eye  view,  half  man, 
half  picture,  in  which  the  details  are  neither  adjusted  to  a 
scale,  nor  drawn  according  to  perspective,  but  crowded  to- 
gether, as  they  would  be  in  an  ancient  bas-relief. 

22.  ARABIAN  ORNAMENTATION. 

I  do  not  mean  what  I  have  here  said  of  the  Inventive  power 
of  the  Arab  to  be  understood  as  in  the  least  applying  to  the 
detestable  ornamentation  of  the  Alhambra.*  The  Alhambra 
is  no  more  characteristic  of  Arab  work,  than  Milan  Cathedral 
is  of  Gothic  :  it  is  a  late  building,  a  work  of  the  Spanish  dy- 
nasty in  its  last  decline,  and  its  ornamentation  is  fit  for  noth- 
ing but  to  be  transferred  to  patterns  of  carpets  or  bindings  of 
books,  together  with  their  marbling,  and  mottling,  and  other 
mechanical  recommendations.  The  Alhambra  ornament  has 
of  late  been  largely  used  in  shop-fronts,  to  the  no  small  detri- 
ment of  Regent  Street  and  Oxford  Street. 

23.  VARIETIES  OF  CHAMFER. 

Let  B  A  C,  Fig.  LXXII.,  be  the  original  angle  of  the  wall. 
Inscribe  within  it  a  circle,  p  Q  N  p,  of  the  size  of  the  bead 
required,  touching  A  B,  A  C,  mp,p  ;  joinp,p,  and  draw  B  C 
parallel  to  it,  touching  the  circle. 

Then  the  lines  B  C,  p  p  are  the  limits  of  the  possible  cham- 
fers constructed  with  curves  struck  either  from  centre  A,  as 

*  I  have  not  seen  the  building  itself,  but  Mr.  Owen  Jones's  work  may, 
I  suppose,  be  considered  as  sufficiently  representing  it  for  all  purposes 
of  criticism. 


420 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


the  line  Q  q,  N  d,  r  %  g  c,  &c.,  or  from  any  othar  point  chosen 
as  a  centre  in  the  direction  Q  A  produced :  and  also  of  all 
chamfers  in  straight  lines,  a  b,  ef.  There  are,  of  course,  an 
infinite  number  of  chamfers  to  be  struck  between  B  C  and  p  p, 
from  every  point  in  Q  A  produced  to  infinity  ;  thus  we  have 
infinity  multiplied  into  infinity  to  express  the  number  of  pos- 
sible chamfers  of  this  species,  which  are  peculiarly  Italian 
chamfers ;  together  with  another  singly  infinite  group  of  the 
straight  chamfers,  a  b,  ef,  &c„  of  which  the  one  formed  by 


B  a  0  p  A 

Fig.  LXXII. 


the  line  a  6,  passing  through  the  centre  of  the  circle,  is  the 
universal  early  Gothic  chamfer  of  Venice. 

Again.  Either  on  the  line  A  C,  or  on  any  other  lines  A I  or 
A  m,  radiating  from  A,  any  number  of  centres  may  be  taken, 
from  which,  with  any  radii  not  greater  than  the  distance  be- 
tween such  points  and  Q,  an  infinite  number  of  curves  may  be 
struck,  such  as  t  u,  r  s,  N  n  (all  which  are  here  struck  from 
centres  on  the  line  A  C).    These  lines  represent  the  greai 


APPENDIX. 


427 


class  of  the  northern  chamfers,  of  which  the  number  is  infinity 
raised  to  its  fourth  power,  but  of  which  the  curve  N  n  (for 
northern)  represents  the  average  condition ;  the  shallower 
chamfers  of  the  same  group,  r  s,  t  u,  &c,  occurring  often  in 
Italy.  The  lines  r  u,  t  u,  and  a  b  may  be  taken  approximat- 
ing to  the  most  frequent  conditions  of  the  southern  chamfer. 

It  is  evident  that  the  chords  of  any  of  these  curves  will  give 
a  relative  group  of  rectilinear  chamfers,  occurring  both  in  the 
North  and  South  ;  but  the  rectilinear  chamfers,  I  think,  invari- 
ably fall  within  the  line  Q  C,  and  are  either  parallel  with  it, 
or  inclined  to  A  C  at  an  angle  greater  than  ACQ,  and  often 
perpendicular  to  it ;  but  never  inclined  to  it  at  an  angle  less 
than  ACQ. 

24.   RENAISSANCE  BASES. 

The  following  extract  from  my  note-book  refers  also  to  some 
features  of  late  decoration  of  shafts. 

"The  Scuola  di  San  Kocco  is  one  of  the  most  interesting 
examples  of  Renaissance  work  in  Venice.  Its  fluted  pillars 
are  surrounded  each  by  a  wreath,  one  of  vine,  another  of  lau- 
rel, another  of  oak,  not  indeed  arranged  with  the  f an tas deism 
of  early  Gothic  ;  but,  especially  the  laurel,  reminding  one 
strongly  of  the  laurel  sprays,  powerful  as  well  as  beautiful,  of 
Veronese  and  Tintoret.  Their  stems  are  curiously  and  richly 
interlaced — the  last  vestige  of  the  Byzantine  wreathed  work 
— and  the  vine-leaves  are  ribbed  on  the  surfaces,  I  think, 
nearly  as  finely  as  those  of  the  Noah,*  though  more  injured 
by  time.  The  capitals  are  far  the  richest  Renaissance  in  Ven« 
ice,  less  corrupt  and  more  masculine  in  plan,  than  any  other, 
and  truly  suggestive  of  support,  though  of  course  showing  the 
tendency  to  error  in  this  respect ;  and  finally,  at  the  angles 
of  the  pure  Attic  bases,  on  the  square  plinth,  are  set  couch- 
ant  animals  ;  one,  an  elephant  four  inches  high,  very  curiously 
and  cleverly  cut,  and  all  these  details  worked  with  a  spirit, 
finish,  fancy,  and  affection  quite  worthy  of  the  middle  ages. 

*  The  sculpture  of  the  Drunkenness  of  Noah  on  the  Ducal  Palace,  of 
which  we  shall  have  much  to  say  hereafter. 


428 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


But  they  have  all  the  marked  fault  of  being  utterly  detached 
from  the  architecture.  The  wreaths  round  the  columns  look  as 
if  they  would  drop  off  the  next  moment,  and  the  animals  at 
the  bases  produce  exactly  the  effect  of  mice  who  had  got  there 
by  accident :  one  feels  them  ridiculously  diminutive,  and 
utterly  useless." 

The  effect  of  diminutiveness  is,  I  think,  chiefly  owing  to 
there  being  no  other  groups  of  figures  near  them,  to  accustom 
the  eye  to  the  proportion,  and  to  the  needless  choice  of  the 
largest  animals,  elephants,  bears,  and  lions,  to  occupy  a  posi- 
tion so  completely  insignificant,  and  to  be  expressed  on  so 
contemptible  a  scale, — not  in  a  bas-relief  or  pictorial  piece  of 
sculpture,  but  as  independent  figures.  The  whole  building 
is  a  most  curious  illustration  of  the  appointed  fate  of  the  Re- 
naissance architects, — to  caricature  whatever  they  imitated, 
and  misapply  whatever  they  learned. 

25.  ROMANIST  DECORATION  OF  BASES. 

I  have  spoken  above  (Appendix  12)  of  the  way  in  which  the 
Eoman  Catholic  priests  everywhere  suffer  their  churches  to  be 
desecrated.  But  the  worst  instances  I  ever  saw  of  sacrilege 
and  brutality,  daily  permitted  in  the  face  of  all  men,  were  the 
uses  to  which  the  noble  base  of  St.  Mark's  was  put,  when  I 
was  last  in  Venice.  Portions  of  nearly  all  cathedrals  may  be 
found  abandoned  to  neglect ;  but  this  base  of  St.  Mark's  is  in 
no  obscure 'position.  Full  fronting  the  western  sun — crossing 
the  whole  breadth  of  St.  Mark's  Place — the  termination  of  the 
most  noble  square  in  the  world — the  centre  of  the  most  noble 
city — its  purple  marbles  were,  in  the  winter  of  1849,  the  cus- 
tomary gambling  tables  of  the  idle  children  of  Venice  ;  and 
the  parts  which  flank  the  Great  Entrance,  that  very  entrance 
where  "  Barbarossa  flung  his  mantle  off,"  were  the  counters 
of  a  common  bazaar  for  children's  toys,  carts,  dolls,  and  small 
pewter  spoons  and  dishes,  German  caricatures  and  books  of 
the  Opera,  mixed  with  those  of  the  offices  of  religion  ;  the 
caricatures  being  fastened  with  twine  round  the  porphyry 
shafts  of  the  church.     One  Sunday,  the  24th  of  February, 


APPENDIX. 


429 


1850,  the  book-stall  being  somewhat  more  richly  laid  out  than 
usual,  I  noted  down  the  titles  of  a  few  of  the  books  in  the 
order  in  which  they  lay,  and  I  give  them  below.  The  irony 
conveyed  by  the  juxtaposition  of  the  three  in  Italics  appears 
too  shrewd  to  be  accidental ;  but  the  fact  was  actually  so. 

Along  the  edge  of  the  white  plinth  were  a  row  of  two  kinds 
of  books, 

Officium  Beatse  Virg.  M.  ;  and  Officium  HebdomadaB 

sanctge,  juxta  Form  am  Missalis  et  Breviarii  itomani 

sub  Urbano  VJLLL  correcti. 
Behind  these  lay,  side  by  side,  the  following : 

Don  Desiderio.    Dramma  Giocoso  per  Musica. 
Breve  Esposizione  della  Carattere  di  vera  Religione. 
On  the  top  of  this  latter,  keeping  its  leaves  open, 

La  Figlia  del  Reggimento.    Melodramma  comica. 
Garteggio  di  Madama  la  Marchesa  di  Pompadour,  ossia 

raccolta  di  Lettere  scritte  della  Medesima. 
htruzioni  di  morale  Condotta  per  le  Figlie. 
Francesca  di  Rimini.    Dramma  per  Musica. 
Then,  a  little  farther  on,  after  a  mass  of  pla}rs  : — 

Orazioni  a  Gesu  Nazareno  e  a  Maria  addolorata. 
Semiramide  ;  Melodramma  tragico  da  rappresentarsi 

nel  Gran  Teatro  il  Fenice. 
Modo  di  orare  per  l'Acquisto  del  S.  Giubileo,  conce- 

duto  a  tutto  il  Mondo  Cattolico  da  S.  S.  Gregorio 

XVI. 

Le  due  illustre  Bivali,  Melodramma  in  Tre  Atti,  da 
rappresent  arsi  nel  nuovo  Gran  Teatro  il  Fenice. 

H  Cristiano  secondo  il  Cuore  di  Gesu,  per  la  Pratica 
delle  sue  Virtu. 

Traduzione  del'  Idioma  Italiana. 

La  chiava  Chinese  ;  Commedia  del  Sig.  Abate  Pietro 
Chiari. 

La  Pelarina  ;  Intermezzo  de  Tre  Parti  per  Musica. 
H  Cavaliero  e  la  Dama  ;  Commedia  in  Tre  Atti  in 
Prosa. 

I  leave  these  facts  without  comment.  But  this  being  the 
last  piece  of  Appendix  I  have  to  add  to  the  present  volume,  I 

^ 


430 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


would  desire  to  close  its  pages  with  a  question  to  my  readers 
— a  statistical  question,  which,  I  doubt  not,  is  being  accurately 
determined  for  us  all  elsewhere,  and  which,  therefore,  it  seems 
to  me,  our  time  would  not  be  wasted  in  determining  for  our- 
selves. 

There  has  now  been  peace  between  England  and  the  conti- 
nental powers  about  thirty-five  years,  and  during  that  period 
the  English  have  visited  the  continent  at  the  rate  of  many 
thousands  a  year,  staying  there,  I  suppose,  on  the  average, 
each  two  or  three  months  ;  nor  these  an  inferior  kind  of  Eng- 
lish, but  the  kind  which  ought  to  be  the  best — the  noblest 
born,  the  best  taught,  the  richest  in  time  and  money,  having 
more  leisure,  knowledge,  and  power  than  any  other  portion  of 
the  nation.  These,  we  might  suppose,  beholding,  as  they 
travelled,  the  condition  of  the  states  in  which  the  Papal  relig- 
ion is  professed,  and  being,  at  the  same  time,  the  most  en- 
lightened section  of  a  great  Protestant  nation,  would  have 
been  animated  with  some  desire  to  dissipate  the  Romanist 
errors,  and  to  communicate  to  others  the  better  knowledge 
which  they  possessed  themselves.  I  doubt  not  but  that  He 
who  gave  peace  upon  the  earth,  and  gave  it  by  the  hand  of 
England,  expected  this  much  of  her,  and  has  watched  every 
one  of  the  millions  of  her  travellers  as  they  crossed  the  sea, 
and  kept  count  for  him  of  his  travelling  expenses,  and  of  their 
distribution,  in  a  manner  of  which  neither  the  traveller  nor  his 
courier  were  at  all  informed.  I  doubt  not,  I  say,  but  that 
such  accounts  have  been  literally  kept  for  all  of  us,  and  that  a 
day  will  come  when  they  will  be  made  clearly  legible  to  us, 
and  when  we  shall  see  added  together,  on  one  side  of  the  ac- 
count book,  a  great  sum,  the  certain  portion,  whatever  it  may 
be,  of  this  thirty-five  years'  spendings  of  the  rich  English,  ac- 
counted for  in  this  manner  : — 

To  wooden  spoons,  nut-crackers,  and  jewellery,  bought  at 
Geneva,  and  elsewhere  among  the  Alps,  so  much  ;  to  shell 
cameos  and  bits  of  mosaic  bought  at  Rome,  so  much  ;  to  coral 
horns  and  lava  brooches  bought  at  Naples,  so  much  ;  to  glass 
beads  at  Venice,  and  gold  filigree  at  Genoa,  so  much  ;  to  pict- 
ures, and  statues^  and  ornaments,  everywhere,  so  much  ;  to 


APPENDIX. 


431 


avant-couriers  and  extra  post-horses,  for  show  and  magnifi- 
cence, so  much  ;  to  great  entertainments  and  good  places  for 
seeing  sights,  so  much  ;  to  ball-dresses  and  general  vanities, 
so  much.  This,  I  say,  will  be  the  sum  on  one  side  of  the 
book  ;  and  on  the  other  will  be  written, 

To  the  struggling  Protestant  Churches  of  France,  Switzer- 
land, and  Piedmont,  so  much. 

Had  we  not  better  do  this  piece  of  statistics  for  ourselves 
in  time  ? 


THE 

STONES  OF  VENICE 

VOLUME  THE  SECOND 
THE    SEA.  STORIES 


ADVEBTISEMENT. 


It  was  originally  intended  that  this  Work  should  consist  of 
two  volumes  only  ;  the  subject  has  extended  to  three.  The 
second  volume,  however,  will  conclude  the  account  of  the 
ancient  architecture  of  Venice.  The  third  will  embrace  the 
Early,  the  Roman,  and  the  Grotesque  Eenaissance  ;  and  an 
Index,  which,  as  it  gives,  in  alphabetical  order,  a  brief  account 
of  all  the  buildings  in  Venice,  or  references  to  the  places 
where  they  are  mentioned  in  the  text,  will  be  found  a  conven- 
ient guide  for^he  traveller.  In  order  to  make  it  more  service- 
able, I  have  introduced  some  notices  of  the  pictures  which  I 
think  most  interesting  in  the  various  churches,  and  in  the 
Scuola  di  San  Rocco. 


CONTENTS. 


FIRST,  OR  BYZANTINE,  PERIOD. 

CHAPTER  I. 

Tfce  Throne,   7 


CHAPTER  II. 

Torcello,  ,16 

CHAPTER  HI. 

Mnrano,  .       e       .       .       .       .       .       .       ,       •      •       •  83 

CHAPTER  IV. 

St.  Mark's,  60 

CHAPTER  V. 

Byaantine  Palaces,  120 

SECOND,  OR  GOTHIC,  PERIOD. 

CHAPTER  VI. 

The  Nature  of  Gothic,   .  153 

\ 


6  CONTENTS. 

pAaa 

CHAPTER  VII. 

Gothic  Palaces,   .  230 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

The  Ducal  Palace,  279 


APPENDIX. 


1.  The  Gondolier's  Cry,  373 

2.  Our  Lady  of  Salvation,  37*> 

3.  Tides  of  Venice,  and  Measures  at  Torcello,        .       .       .  .377 

4.  Date  of  the  Duomo  of  Torcello,  370 

5.  Modern  Pulpits,   .  370 

0.  Apse  of  Murano,  380 

7.  Early  Venetian  Dress,  381 

8.  Inscriptions  at  Murano,  382 

9.  Shafts  of  St.  Mark,  388 

10.  Proper  Sense  of  the  Word  Idolatry,       .  .       .       .  387 

11.  Situations  of  Byzantine  Palaces,  390 

12.  Modern  Painting  on  Glass,  893 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


STONES  OF  VENICE,  VOLUME  TWO. 


FACING 

PLATE  PAGE 

!.  Plans  of  Torcello  and  Murano,  .       .       .  •       .  .20 

2.  The  Acanthus  of  Torcello,   21 

3.  Inlaid  Bands  of  Murano,  .       .   45 

4.  Sculptures  of  Murano,   47 

5.  Archivolt  in  the  Duomo  of  Murano, ......  50 

6.  The  Vine.    Free,  and  in  Service,   98 

7.  Byzantine  Capitals.    Convex  Group,   130 

8.  Byzantine  Capitals.    Concave  Group,           .  134 

9.  Lily  Capital  of  St.  Marks,   138 

10.  Four  Venetian  Flower  Orders  (to  follow  Plate  9). 

11.  Byzantine  Sculpture,     ........  140 

12.  Linear  and  Surface  Gothic,   224 

13.  Balconies,   246 

14.  The  Orders  of  Venetian  Arches,   248 

15.  Windows  of  the  Second  Order.    Casa  Falier,       .       •       .  253 

16.  Windows  of  the  Fourth  Order,   256 

17.  Windows  of  the  Early  Gothic  Palaces,                       •  258 

18.  Windows  of  the  Fifth  Order,    .       .       .      •       .       .  .264 

19.  Leafage  of  the  Vine  Angle,    .  L   308 

20.  Leafage  of  the  Venetian  Capitals,     .       .       .              .       .  366 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

FIGURE  PAGE 

1.  Triple  Chain,  21 

2.  Bands  of  Murano,  49 

Latin  Inscription,  .       .  52 

3.  Archivolts  of  St.  Marks  and  Murano,  54 

4.  The  Fondaco  de'  Turchi,  •       .  123 

Diagram  of  Pillars.    Casa  Loredan,  .       .       ,       .       .  .125 

5.  Arches  of  St.  Marks,  Lines  of,      .....  128 

6.  Leaf  Group,      .       .  .  .       .       ,       .       .  129 

7.  Six  Petal  Star,  130 

8.  Flat  Lintel  Windows,  211 

9.  Pointed  Arch  (outline),   •       .  212 

10.  Gothic  Arches,  213 

11.  Architecture  of  Lintel,  Bound  Arch  and  Gable,  .       .       .  214 

12.  Architecture  of  Greek,  Western  Romanesque,  and  True  Gothic,  215 

13.  Gothic  and  Romanesque  Gables,  216 

14.  Gothic  and  Romanesque  Gables,  217 

15.  Weak  and  Strong  Arch,  218 

16.  Foliation,  219 

17.  Foliation,   .  219 

18.  Designs  of  Moulding,  221 

19.  Foliated  Architecture,  222 

20.  Veronese  Niche  Ornament,   227 

21.  Frari  Traceries,  233 

22.  Quatrefoil,        .       .  234 

23.  Roof  Parapets,  240 

24.  Parapets,   243 

25.  Traceried  Parapet,        ........  244 

26.  Door  and  Window  in  the  Corte  del  Remer,       ....  250 

27.  Stone  Arch,  251 

28.  Brick  Arches,  251 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


FIGURE  PAGE 

29.  Archivolt  Profiles,  252 

80.  Keystone,  ...........  254 

81.  Windows  of  the  Third  Order,  256 

32.  Windows  from  the  Salizada  San  Lid,        .       .       •       .  .  256 

33.  Gothic  Trefoils,   258 

34.  Gothic  Trefoil,  258 

35.  Window.    Brick  Level  Head,   268 

36.  (Not  in),   .  280 

37.  (Not  in),   281 

38.  Facade,     .    283 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


FIRST,  OR  BYZANTINE,  PERIOD. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  THRONE. 

§  I.  In  the  olden  days  of  travelling,  now  to  return  no  more, 
in  which  distance  could  not  be  vanquished  without  toil,  but  in 
which  that  toil  was  rewarded,  partly  by  the  power  of  deliberate 
survey  of  the  countries  through  which  the  journey  lay,  and 
partly  by  the  happiness  of  the  evening  hours,  when,  from  the 
top  of  the  last  hill  he  had  surmounted,  the  traveller  beheld  the 
quiet  village  where  he  was  to  rest,  scattered  among  the  mead- 
ows beside  its  valley  stream  ;  or,  from  the  long-hoped-for  turn 
in  the  dusty  perspective  of  the  causeway,  saw,  for  the  first  time, 
the  towers  of  some  famed  city,  faint  in  the  rays  of  sunset — 
hours  of  peaceful  and  thoughtful  pleasure,  for  which  the  rush 
of  the  arrival  in  the  railway  station  is  perhaps  not  always,  or 
to  all  men,  an  equivalent, — in  those  days,  I  say,  when  there 
was  something  more  to  be  anticipated  and  remembered  in  the 
first  aspect  of  each  successive  halting-place,  than  a  new  ar- 
rangement of  glass  roofing  and  iron  girder,  there  were  few  mo- 
ments of  which  the  recollection  was  more  fondly  cherished  by 
the  traveller  than  that  which,  as  I  endeavored  to  describe  in 
the  close  of  the  last  chapter,  brought  him  within  sight  of 
Venice,  as  his  gondola  shot  into  the  open  lagoon  from  the 
canal  of  Mestre.  Not  but  that  the  aspect  of  the  city  itself  was 
generally  the  source  of  some  slight  disappointment,  for,  seen 
in  this  direction,  its  buildings  are  far  less  characteristic  than 


8 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


those  of  the  other  great  towns  of  Italy  ;  but  this  inferiority 
was  partly  disguised  by  distance,  and  more  than  atoned  for  bj 
the  strange  rising  of  its  walls  and  towers  out  of  the  midst,  as 
it  seemed,  of  the  deep  sea,  for  it  was  impossible  that  the  mind 
or  the  eye  could  at  once  comprehend  the  shallowness  of  the 
vast  sheet  of  water  which  stretched  away  in  leagues  of  rippling 
lustre  to  the  north  and  south,  or  trace  the  narrow  line  of  islets 
bounding  it  to  the  east.  The  salt  breeze,  the  white  moaning 
sea-birds,  the  masses  of  black  weed  separating  and  disappear- 
ing gradually,  in  knots  of  heaving  shoal,  under  the  advance  of 
the  steady  tide,  all  proclaimed  it  to  be  indeed  the  ocean  on 
whose  bosom  the  great  city  rested  so  calmly  ;  not  such  blue, 
soft,  lake-like  ocean  as  bathes  the  Neapolitan  promontories, 
or  sleeps  beneath  the  marble  rocks  of  Genoa,  but  a  sea  with 
the  bleak  power  of  our  own  northern  waves,  yet  subdued  into 
a  strange  spacious  rest,  and  changed  from  its  angry  pallor  into 
a  field  of  burnished  gold,  as  the  sun  declined  behind  the  bel- 
fry tower  of  the  lonely  island  church,  fitly  named  "  St.  George 
of  the  Seaweed."  As  the  boat  drew  nearer  to  the  city,  the 
coast  which  the  traveller  had  just  left  sank  behind  him  into 
one  long,  low,  sad-colored  line,  tufted  irregularly  with  brush- 
wood and  willows  :  but,  at  what  seemed  its  northern  extrem- 
ity, the  hills  of  Arqua  rose  in  a  dark  cluster  of  purple  pyra- 
mids, balanced  on  the  bright  mirage  of  the  lagoon  ;  two  or 
three  smooth  surges  of  inferior  hill  extended  themselves  about 
their  roots,  and  beyond  these,  beginning  with  the  craggy  peaks 
above  Vicenza,  the  chain  of  the  Alps  girded  the  whole  horizon 
to  the  north — a  wall  of  jagged  blue,  here  and  there  showing 
through  its  clefts  a  wilderness  of  misty  precipices,  fading  far 
back  into  the  recesses  of  Cadore,  and  itself  rising  and  break- 
ing away  eastward,  where  the  sun  struck  opposite  upon  its  snow, 
into  mighty  fragments  of  peaked  light,  standing  up  behind 
the  barred  clouds  of  evening,  one  after  another,  countless,  the 
crown  of  the  Adrian  Sea,  until  the  eye  turned  back  from  pur- 
suing them,  to  rest  upon  the  nearer  burning  of  the  campaniles 
of  Murano,  and  on  the  great  city,  where  it  magnified  itself 
along  the  waves,  as  the  quick  silent  pacing  of  the  gondola 
drew  nearer  and  nearer.    And  at  last,  when  its  walls  were 


THE  THRONE. 


9 


reached,  and  the  outmost  of  its  untrodden  streets  was  entered, 
not  through  towered  gate  or  guarded  rampart,  but  as  a  deep 
inlet  between  two  rocks  of  coral  in  the  Indian  sea  ;  when  first 
upon  the  traveller's  sight  opened  the  long  ranges  of  col- 
umned palaces, — each  with  its  black  boat  moored  at  the 
portal,— each  with  its  image  cast  down,  beneath  its  feet, 
upon  that  green  pavement  which  every  breeze  broke  into  new 
fantasies  of  rich  tessellation ;  when  first,  at  the  extremity  of 
the  bright  vista,  the  shadowy  Rialto  threw  its  colossal  curve 
slowly  forth  from  behind  the  palace  of  the  Camerlenghi ;  that 
strange  curve,  so  delicate,  so  adamantine,  strong  as  a  moun- 
tain cavern,  graceful  as  a  bow  just  bent  ;  when  first,  before  its 
moonlike  circumference  was  all  risen,  the  gondolier's  cry, 
"  Ah  !  Stall,"  *  struck  sharp  upon  the  ear,  and  the  prow  turned 
aside  under  the  mighty  cornices  that  half  met  over  the  narrow 
canal,  where  the  plash  of  the  water  followed  close  and  loud, 
ringing  along  the  marble  by  the  boat's  side  ;  and  when  at  last 
that  boat  darted  forth  upon  the  breadth  of  silver  sea,  across 
which  the  front  of  the  Ducal  palace,  flushed  with  its  sanguine 
veins,  looks  to  the  snowy  dome  of  Our  Lady  of  Salvation,!  it 
was  no  marvel  that  the  mind  should  be  so  deeply  entranced 
by  the  visionary  charm  of  a  scene  so  beautiful  and  so  strange, 
as  to  forget  the  darker  truths  of  its  history  and  its  being. 
Well  might  it  seem  that  such  a  city  had  owed  her  existence 
rather  to  the  rod  of  the  enchanter,  than  the  fear  of  the  fugi- 
tive ;  that  the  waters  which  encircled  her  had  been  chosen  for 
the  mirror  of  her  state,  rather  than  the  shelter  of  her  naked- 
ness ;  and  that  all  which  in  nature  was  wild  or  merciless,— 
Time  and  Decay,  as  well  as  the  waves  and  tempests, — had 
been  won  to  adorn  her  instead  of  to  destroy,  and  might  still 
spare,  for  ages  to  come,  that  beauty  which  seemed  to  have 
fixed  for  its  throne  the  sands  of  the  hour-glass  as  well  as  of 
the  sea. 

§  ii.  And  although  the  last  few  eventful  years,  fraught  witV 
change  to  the  face  of  the  whole  earth,  have  been  more  fatal  in 
their  influence  on  Venice  than  the  five  hundred  that  preceded 

*  Appendix  1,  11  The  Gondolier's  Cry." 
]  Appendix  2,  "  Our  Lady  of  Salvation.'' 


10 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


them  ;  though  the  noble  landscape  of  approach  to  her  can  no^t 
be  seen  no  more,  or  seen  only  by  a  glance,  as  the  engine  slack- 
ens its  rushing  on  the  iron  line  ;  and  though  many  of  her 
palaces  are  for  ever  defaced,  and  many  in  desecrated  ruins, 
there  is  still  so  much  of  magic  in  her  aspect,  that  the  hurried 
traveller,  who  must  leave  her  before  the  wonder  of  that  first 
aspect  has  been  worn  away,  may  still  be  led  to  forget  the  hu- 
mility of  her  origin,  and  to  shut  his  eyes  to  the  depth  of  her 
desolation.  They,  at  least,  are  little  to  be  envied,  in  whose 
hearts  the  great  charities  of  the  imagination  lie  dead,  and  for 
whom  the  fancy  has  no  power  to  repress  the  importunity  of 
painful  impressions,  or  to  raise  what  is  ignoble,  and  disguise 
what  is  discordant,  in  a  scene  so  rich  in  its  remembrances,  so 
surpassing  in  its  beauty.  But  for  this  work  of  the  imagina- 
tion there  must  be  no  permission  during  the  task  which  is 
before  us.  The  impotent  feelings  of  romance,  so  singularly 
characteristic  of  this  century,  may  indeed  gild,  but  never  save 
the  remains  of  those  mightier  ages  to  which  they  are  attached 
like  climbing  flowers  ;  and  they  must  be  torn  away  from  the 
magnificent  fragments,  if  we  would  see  them  as  they  stood  in 
their  own  strength.  Those  feelings,  always  as  fruitless  as  they 
are  fond,  are  in  Venice  not  only  incapable  of  protecting,  but 
even  of  discerning,  the  objects  to  which  they  ought  to  have 
been  attached.  The  Venice  of  modern  fiction  and  drama  is  a 
thing  of  yesterday,  a  mere  efflorescence  of  decay,  a  stage 
dream  which  the  first  ray  of  daylight  must  dissipate  into 
dust.  No  prisoner,  whose  name  is  worth  remembering,  or 
whose  sorrow  deserved  sympathy,  ever  crossed  that  "  Bridge 
of  Sighs,"  which  is  the  centre  of  the  Byronic  ideal  of  Venice  ; 
no  great  merchant  of  Venice  ever  saw  that  Bialto  under  which 
the  traveller  now  passes  with  breathless  interest :  the  statue 
which  Byron  makes  Faliero  address  as  of  one  of  his  great  an- 
cestors was  erected  to  a  soldier  of  fortune  a  hundred  and  fifty 
years  after  Faliero's  death  ;  and  the  most  conspicuous  parts 
of  the  city  have  been  so  entirely  altered  in  the  course  of  the 
last  three  centuries,  that  if  Henry  Dandolo  or  Francis  Foscari 
could  be  summoned  from  their  tombs,  and  stood  each  on  the 
deck  of  his  galley  at  the  entrance  of  the  Grand  Canal,  that 


THE  THRONE. 


11 


renowned  entrance,  the  painter's  favorite  subject,  the  novelist's 
favorite  scene,  where  the  water  first  narrows  by  the  steps  of 
the  Church  of  La  Salute, — the  mighty  Doges  would  not  know 
in  what  spot  of  the  world  they  stood,  would  literally  not  rec- 
ognize one  stone  of  the  great  city,  for  whose  sake,  and  by 
whose  ingratitude,  their  grey  hairs  had  been  brought  down 
with  bitterness  to  the  grave.  The  remains  of  their  Venice  lie 
hidden  behind  the  cumbrous  masses  which  were  the  delight 
of  the  nation  in  its  dotage ;  hidden  in  many  a  grass-grown 
court,  and  silent  pathway,  and  lightless  canal,  where  the  slow 
waves  have  sapped  their  foundations  for  five  hundred  years, 
and  must  soon  prevail  over  them  for  ever.  It  must  be  our 
task  to  glean  and  gather  them  forth,  and  restore  out  of  them 
some  faint  image  of  the  lost  city,  more  gorgeous  a  thousand- 
fold than  that  which  now  exists,  yet  not  created  in  the  day- 
dream of  the  prince,  nor  by  the  ostentation  of  the  noble,  but 
built  by  iron  hands  and  patient  hearts,  contending  against 
the  adversity  of  nature  and  the  fury  of  man,  so  that  its  wonder- 
fulness  cannot  be  grasped  by  the  indolence  of  imagination,  but 
only  after  frank  inquiry  into  the  true  nature  of  that  wild  and 
solitary  scene,  whose  restless  tides  and  trembling  sands  did 
indeed  shelter  the  birth  of  the  city,  but  long  denied  her  do- 
minion. 

§  in.  When  the  eye  falls  casually  on  a  map  of  Europe,  there 
is  no  feature  by  which  it  is  more  likely  to  be  arrested  than 
the  strange  sweeping  loop  formed  by  the  junction  of  the  Alps 
and  Apennines,  and  enclosing  the  great  basin  of  Lombardy. 
This  return  of  the  mountain  chain  upon  itself  causes  a  vast 
difference  in  the  character  of  the  distribution  of  its  debris  on 
its  opposite  sides.  The  rock  fragments  and  sediment  which 
the  torrents  on  the  north  side  of  the  Alps  bear  into  the  plains  , 
are  distributed  over  a  vast  extent  of  country,  and,  though  here 
and  there  lodged  in  beds  of  enormous  thickness,  soon  permit 
the  firm  substrata  to  appear  from  underneath  them  ;  but  all 
the  torrents  which  descend  from  the  southern  side  of  the  High 
Alps,  and  from  the  northern  slope  of  the  Apennines,  meet 
concentrically  in  the  recess  or  mountain  bay  which  the  two 
ridges  enclose  ;  every  fragment  which  thunder  breaks  out  of 


12 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


their  battlements,  and  every  grain  of  dust  which  the  summei 
rain  washes  from  their  pastures,  is  at  last  laid  at  rest  in  tho 
blue  sweep  of  the  Lombardic  plain  ;  and  that  plain  must  have 
risen  within  its  rocky  barriers  as  a  cup  fills  with  wine,  but  for 
two  contrary  influences  which  continually  depress,  or  disjjerse 
from  its  surface,  the  accumulation  of  the  ruins  of  ages. 

§  iv.  I  will  not  tax  the  reader's  faith  in  modern  science  by 
insisting  on  the  singular  depression  of  the  surface  of  Lom^ 
bardy3  which  appears  for  many  centuries  to  have  taken  place 
steadily  and  continually  ;  the  main  fact  with  which  we  have 
to  do  is  the  gradual  transport,  by  the  Po  and  its  great  col- 
lateral rivers,  of  vast  masses  of  the  finer  sediment  to  the  sea. 
The  character  of  the  Lombardic  plains  is  most  strikingly  ex- 
pressed by  the  ancient  walls  of  its  cities,  composed  for  the 
most  part  of  large  rounded  Alpine  pebbles  alternating  with 
narrow  courses  of  brick  ;  and  was  curiously  illustrated  in 
1848,  by  the  ramparts  of  these  same  pebbles  thrown  up  four 
or  five  feet  high  round  every  field,  to  check  the  Austrian  cav- 
alry in  the  battle  under  the  walls  of  Verona.  The  finer  dust 
among  which  these  pebbles  are  dispersed  is  taken  up  by  the 
rivers,  fed  into  continual  strength  by  the  Alpine  snow,  so 
that,  however  pure  their  waters  may  be  when  they  issue  from 
the  lakes  at  the  foot  of  the  great  chain,  they  become  of  the 
color  and  opacity  of  clay  before  they  reach  the  Adriatic ;  the 
sediment  which  they  bear  is  at  once  thrown  down  as  they 
enter  the  sea,  forming  a  vast  belt  of  low  land  along  the 
eastern  coast  of  Italy.  The  powerful  stream  of  the  Po  of 
course  builds  forward  the  fastest ;  on  each  side  of  it,  north 
and  south,  there  is  a  tract  of  marsh,  fed  by  more  feeble 
streams,  and  less  liable  to  rapid  change  than  the  delta  of  the 
central  river.  In  one  of  these  tracts  is  built  Ravenna,  and  in 
the  other  Venice. 

§  v.  "What  circumstances  directed  the  peculiar  arrangement 
of  this  great  belt  of  sediment  in  the  earliest  times,  it  is  not 
here  the  place  to  inquire.  It  is  enough  for  us  to  know  that 
from  the  mouths  of  the  Adige  to  those  of  the  Piave  there 
stretches,  at  a  variable  distance  of  from  three  to  five  nailer 
from  the  actua.1  shore,  a  bank  of  sand,  divided  into  long 


THE  THRONE. 


13 


islands  by  narrow  channels  of  sea.  The  space  between  this 
bank  and  the  true  shore  consists  of  the  sedimentary  deposits 
from  these  and  other  rivers,  a  great  plain  of  calcareous  mud, 
covered,  in  the  neighborhood  of  Venice,  by  the  sea  at  high 
water,  to  the  depth  in  most  places  of  a  foot  or  a  foot  and  a 
half,  and  nearly  everywhere  exposed  at  low  tide,  but  divided 
by  an  intricate  network  of  narrow  and  winding  channels,  from 
which  the  sea  AAever  retires.  In  some  places,  according  to  the 
run  of  the  currents,  the  land  has  risen  into  marshy  islets,  con- 
solidated, some  by  art,  and  some  by  time,  into  ground  firm 
enough  to  be  built  upon,  or  fruitful  enough  to  be  cultivated  : 
in  others,  on  the  contrary,  it  has  not  reached  the  sea-level ;  so 
that,  at  the  average  low  water,  shallow  lakelets  glitter  among 
its  irregularly  exposed  fields  of  seaweed.  In  the  midst  of  the 
largest  of  these,  increased  in  importance  by  the  confluence  of 
several  large  river  channels  towards  one  of  the  openings  in 
the  sea  bank,  the  city  of  Venice  itself  is  built,  on  a  crowxled 
cluster  of  islands  ;  the  various  plots  of  higher  ground  which 
appear  to  the  north  and  south  of  this  central  cluster,  have  at 
different  periods  been  also  thickly  inhabited,  and  now  bear, 
according  to  their  size,  the  remains  of  cities,  villages,  or  iso- 
lated convents  and  churches,  scattered  among  spaces  of  open 
ground,  partly  waste  and  encumbered  by  ruins,  partly  under 
cultivation  for  the  supply  of  the  metropolis. 

§  vi.  The  average  rise  and  fall  of  the  tide  is  about  three 
feet  (varying  considerably  with  the  seasons  *);  but  this  fall, 
on  so  flat  a  shore,  is  enough  to  cause  continual  movement  in 
the  waters,  and  in  the  main  canals  to  produce  a  reflux  which 
frequently  runs  like  a  mill  stream.  At  high  water  no  land  is 
visible  for  many  miles  to  the  north  or  south  of  Venice,  except 
in  the  form  of  small  islands  crowned  with  towers  or  gleaming 
with  villages  :  there  is  a  channel,  some  three  miles  wide,  be- 
tween the  city  and  the  mainland,  and  some  mile  and  a  half 
wide  between  it  and  the  sandy  breakwater  called  the  Lido, 
which  divides  the  lagoon  from  the  Adriatic,  but  which  is  so 
low  as  hardly  to  disturb  the  impression  of  the  city's  having 
been  built  in  the  midst  of  the  ocean,  although  the  secret  of 
*  Appendix  3,  * 4  Tides  of  Venice." 


14 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


its  true  position  is  partly,  yet  not  painfully,  betrayed  by  tlia 
clusters  of  piles  set  to  mark  the  deep-water  channels,  which 
undulate  far  away  in  spotty  chains  like  the  studded  backs  of 
huge  sea-snakes,  and  by  the  quick  glittering  of  the  crisped 
and  crowded  waves  that  flicker  and  dance  before  the  strong 
winds  upon  the  unlifted  level  of  the  shallow  sea.  But  the 
scene  is  widely  different  at  low  tide.  A  fall  of  eighteen  or 
twenty  inches  is  enough  to  show  ground  over  the  greater 
part  of  the  lagoon  ;  and  at  the  complete  ebb  the  city  is  seen 
standing  in  the  midst  of  a  dark  plain  of  seaweed,  of  gloomy 
green,  except  only  where  the  larger  branches  of  the  Brenta 
and  its  associated  streams  converge  towards  the  port  of  the 
Lido.  Through  this  salt  and  sombre  plain  the  gondola  and 
the  fishing-boat  advance  by  tortuous  channels,  seldom  more 
than  four  or  five  feet  deep,  and  often  so  choked  with  slime 
that  the  heavier  keels  furrow  the  bottom  till  their  crossing- 
tracks  are  seen  through  the  clear  sea  water  like  the  ruts  upon 
a  wintry  road,  and  the  oar  leaves  blue  gashes  upon  the  ground 
at  every  stroke,  or  is  entangled  among  the  thick  weed  that 
fringes  the  banks  with  the  weight  of  its  sullen  waves,  leaning 
to  and  fro  upon  the  uncertain  sway  of  the  exhausted  tide. 
The  scene  is  often  profoundly  oppressive,  even  at  this  day, 
when  every  plot  of  higher  ground  bears  some  fragment  of 
fair  building  :  but,  in  order  to  know  what  it  was  once,  let  the 
traveller  follow  in  his  boat  at  evening  the  windings  of  some 
unfrequented  channel  far  into  the  midst  of  the  melancholy 
plain  ;  let  him  remove,  in  his  imagination,  the  brightness  of 
the  great  city  that  still  extends  itself  in  the  distance,  and 
the  walls  and  towers  from  the  islands  that  are  near  ;  and  so 
wait,  until  the  bright  investiture  and  sweet  warmth  of  the 
sunset  are  withdrawn  from  the  waters,  and  the  black  desert 
of  their  shore  lies  in  its  nakedness  beneath  the  night,  path- 
less, comfortless,  infirm,  lost  in  dark  languor  and  fearful 
silence,  except  where  the  salt  runlets  plash  into  the  tideless 
pools,  or  the  seabirds  flit  from  their  margins  with  a  question- 
ing cry ;  and  he  will  be  enabled  to  enter  in  some  sort  into 
the  horror  of  heart  with  which  this  solitude  was  anciently 
chosen  by  man  for  his  habitation.    They  little  thought,  who 


THE  THRONE. 


15 


first  drove  the  stakes  into  the  sand,  and  strewed  the  ocean 
reeds  for  their  rest,  that  their  children  were  to  be  the  princes 
of  that  ocean,  and  their  palaces  its  pride  ;  and  yet,  in  the 
great  natural  laws  that  rule  that  sorrowful  wilderness,  let  it 
be  remembered  what  strange  preparation  had  been  made  for 
the  things  which  no  human  imagination  could  have  foretold, 
and  how  the  whole  existence  and  fortune  of  the  Venetian  na- 
tion were  anticipated  or  compelled,  by  the  setting  of  those 
bars  and  doors  to  the  rivers  and  the  sea.  Had  deeper  cur- 
rents divided  their  islands,  hostile  navies  would  again  and 
again  have  reduced  the  rising  city  into  servitude  ;  had 
stronger  surges  beaten  their  shores,  all  the  richness  and  re- 
finement of  the  Venetian  architecture  must  have  been  ex- 
changed for  the  walls  and  bulwarks  of  an  ordinary  sea-port. 
Had  there  been  no  tide,  as  in  other  parts  of  the  Mediterra- 
nean, the  narrow  canals  of  the  city  would  have  become  noi- 
some, and  the  marsh  in  which  it  was  built  pestiferous.  Had 
the  tide  been  only  a  foot  or  eighteen  inches  higher  in  its  rise, 
the  water-access  to  the  doors  of  the  palaces  would  have  been 
impossible  :  even  as  it  is,  there  is  sometimes  a  little  difficulty, 
at  the  ebb,  in  landing  without  setting  foot  upon  the  lower 
and  slippery  steps  :  and  the  highest  tides  sometimes  enter 
the  courtyards,  and  overflow  the  entrance  halls.  Eighteen 
inches  more  of  difference  between  the  level  of  the  flood  and 
ebb  would  have  rendered  the  doorsteps  of  every  palace,  at 
low  water,  a  treacherous  mass  of  weeds  and  limpets,  and  the 
entire  system  of  water-carriage  for  the  higher  classes,  in  their 
easy  and  daily  intercourse,  must  have  been  done  away  with. 
The  streets  of  the  city  would  have  been  widened,  its  network 
of  canals  filled  up,  and  all  the  peculiar  character  of  the  place 
and  the  people  destroyed. 

§  vii.  The  reader  may  perhaps  have  felt  some  pain  in  ths 
contrast  between  this  faithful  view  of  the  site  of  the  Venetian 
Throne,  and  the  romantic  conception  of  it  which  we  ordinarily 
form  ;  but  this  pain,  if  he  have  felt  it,  ought  to  be  more  than 
counterbalanced  by  the  value  of  the  instance  thus  afforded  to 
us  at  once  of  the  inscrutableness  .and  the  wisdom  of  the  ways 
of  God.    If,  two  thousand  years  ago,  we  had  been  permittees 


16 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


to  watch  the  slow  settling  of  the  slime  of  those  turbid  rivers 
into  the  polluted  sea,  and  the  gaining  upon  its  deep  and  fresh 
waters  of  the  lifeless,  impassable,  unvoyageable  plain,  how  lit- 
tle could  we  have  understood  the  purpose  with  which  those 
islands  were  shaped  out  of  the  void,  and  the  torpid  waters  en« 
closed  with  their  desolate  walls  of  sand  !  How  little  could  we 
have  known,  any  more  than  of  what  now  seems  to  us  most  dis- 
tressful, dark,  and  objectless,  the  glorious  aim  which  was  then 
in  the  mind  of  Him  in  whose  hand  are  all  the  corners  of  the 
earth  !  how  little  imagined  that  in  the  laws  which  were 
stretching  forth  the  gloomy  margins  of  those  fruitless  banks, 
and  feeding  the  bitter  grass  among  their  shallows,  there  was 
indeed  a  preparation,  and  the  only  preparation  possible,  for  the 
founding  of  a  city  which  was  to  be  set  like  a  golden  clasp  on 
the  girdle  of  the  earth,  to  write  her  history  on  the  white 
scrolls  of  the  sea-surges,  and  to  word  it  in  their  thunder, 
and  to  gather  and  give  forth,  in  world-wide  pulsation,  the 
glory  of  the  "West  and  of  the  East,  from  the  burning  heart  of 
her  Fortitude  and  Splendor. 


CHAPTER  H. 

TORCELLO. 

§  i.  Seven  miles  to  the  north  of  Venice,  the  banks  of  sand, 
which  near  the  city  rise  little  above  low- water  mark,  attain  by 
degrees  a  higher  level,  and  knit  themselves  at  last  into  fields 
of  salt  morass,  raised  here  and  there  into  shapeless  mounds, 
and  intercepted  by  narrow  creeks  of  sea.  One  of  the  feeblest 
of  these  inlets,  after  winding  for  some  time  among  buried 
fragments  of  masonry,  and  knots  of  sunburnt  weeds  whitened 
with  webs  of  fucus,  stays  itself  in  an  utterly  stagnant  pool  be- 
side  a  plot  of  greener  grass  covered  with  ground  ivy  and  vio- 
lets. On  this  mound  is  built  a  rude  brick  campanile,  of  the 
commonest  Lombardic  type,  which  if  we  ascend  towards  even- 
ing (and  there  are  none  to  hinder  us,  the  door  of  its  ruinous 
staircase  swinging  idly  on  its  hinges),  we  may  command  from 
it  one  of  the  most  notable  scenes  in  this  wide  world  of  ours, 


TORCELLO. 


17 


Far  as  the  eye  can  reach,  a  waste  of  wild  sea  moor,  of  a  lurid 
ashen  grey  ;  not  like  our  northern  moors  with  their  jet-black 
pools  and  purple  heath,  but  lifeless,  the  color  of  sackcloth, 
with  the  corrupted  sea-water  soaking  through  the  roots  of  its 
acrid  weeds,  and  gleaming  hither  and  thither  through  its 
snaky  channels.  No  gathering  of  fantastic  mists,  nor  coursing 
of  clouds  across  it ;  but  melancholy  clearness  of  space  in  the 
warm  sunset,  oppressive,  reaching  to  the  horizon  of  its  level 
gloom.  To  the  very  horizon,  on  the  north-east ;  but,  to  the 
north  and  west,  there  is  a  blue  line  of  higher  land  along  the 
border  of  it,  and  above  this,  but  farther  back,  a  misty  band  of 
mountains,  touched  with  snow.  To  the  east,  the  paleness 
and  roar  of  the  Adriatic,  louder  at  momentary  intervals  as  the 
surf  breaks  on  the  bars  of  sand  ;  to  the  south,  the  widening 
branches  of  the  calm  lagoon,  alternately  purple  and  pale 
green,  as  they  reflect  the  evening  clouds  or  twilight  sky  ;  and 
almost  beneath  our  feet,  on  the  same  field  which  sustains  the 
tower  we  gaze  from,  a  group  of  four  buildings,  two  of  them 
little  larger  than  cottages  (though  built  of  stone,  and  one 
adorned  by  a  quaint  belfry),  the  third  an  octagonal  chapel,  of 
which  we  can  see  but  little  more  than  the  flat  red  roof  with 
its  rayed  tiling,  the  fourth,  a  considerable  church  with  nave 
and  aisles,  but  of  which,  in  like  manner,  we  can  see  little  but 
the  long  central  ridge  and  lateral  slopes  of  roof,  which  the 
sunlight  separates  in  one  glowing  mass  from  the  green  field 
beneath  and  grey  moor  beyond.  There  are  no  living  creat- 
ures near  the  buildings,  nor  any  vestige  of  village  or  city 
round  about  them.  They  lie  like  a  little  company  of  ships 
becalmed  on  a  far-away  sea, 

§  ii.  Then  look  farther  to  the  south.  Beyond  the  widening 
branches  of  the  lagoon,  and  rising  out  of  the  bright  lake  into 
which  they  gather,  there  are  a  multitude  of  towers,  dark,  and 
scattered  among  square-set  shapes  of  clustered  palaces,  a  long 
and  irregular  line  fretting  the  southern  sky. 

Mother  and  daughter,  you  behold  them  both  in  their  wid- 
owhood,— Torcello  and  Venice. 

Thirteen  hundred  years  ago,  the  grey  moorland  looked  as 
it  does  this  day,  and  the  purple  mountains  stood  as  radiantly 
Vol.  II.— 2 


18 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


ill  the  deep  distances  of  evening ;  but  on  the  line  of  the  hori 
zon,  there  were  strange  fires  mixed  with  the  light  of  sunset, 
and  the  lament  of  many  human  voices  mixed  with  the  fretting 
of  the  waves  on  their  ridges  of  sand..  The  flames  rose  from 
the  ruins  of  Altinum  ;  the  lament  from  the  multitude  of  its 
people,  seeking,  like  Israel  of  old,  a  refuge  from  the  sword  in 
the  paths  of  the  sea. 

The  cattle  are  feeding  and  resting  upon  the  site  of  the  city 
that  they  left  ;  the  mower's  scythe  swept  this  day  at  dawn  over 
the  chief  street  of  the  city  that  they  built,  and  the  swathes  of 
soft  grass  are  now  sending  up  their  scent  into  the  night  air, 
the  only  incense  that  fills  the  temple  of  their  ancient  worship. 
Let  us  go  down  into  that  little  space  of  meadow  land. 

§  in.  The  inlet  which  runs  nearest  to  the  base  of  the  cam- 
panile is  not  that  by  which  Torcello  is  commonly  approached. 
Another,  somewhat  broader,  and  overhung  by  alder  copse, 
winds  out  of  the  main  channel  of  the  lagoon  up  to  the  very 
edge  of  the  little  meadow  which  was  once  the  Piazza  of  the 
city,  and  there,  stayed  by  a  few  grey  stones  which  present 
some  semblance  of  a  quay,  forms  its  boundary  at  one  ex- 
tremity. Hardly  larger  than  an  ordinary  English  farmyard, 
and  roughly  enclosed  on  each  side  by  broken  palings  and 
hedges  of  honeysuckle  and  briar,  the  narrow  field  retires  from 
the  water's  edge,  traversed  by  a  scarcely  traceable  footpath, 
for  some  forty  or  fifty  paces,  and  then  expanding  into  the 
form  of  a  small  square,  with  buildings  on  three  sides  of  it, 
the  fourth  being  that  which  opens  to  the  water.  Two  of  these, 
that  on  our  left  and  that  in  front  of  us  as  we  approach  from 
the  canal,  are  so  small  that  they  might  well  be  taken  for  the 
out-houses  of  the  farm,  though  the  first  is  a  conventual  build- 
ing, and  the  other  aspires  to  the  title  of  the  "Palazzo  publico," 
both  dating  as  far  back  as  the  beginning  of  the  fourteenth 
century  ;  the  third,  the  octagonal  church  of  Santa  Fosca,  is  far 
more  ancient  than  either,  yet  hardly  on  a  larger  scale.  Though 
the  pillars  of  the  portico  which  surrounds  it  are  of  pure 
Greek  marble,  and  their  capitals  are  enriched  with  delicate 
sculp ture3  they,  and  the  arches  they  sustain,  together  only 
raise  the  roof  to  the  height  of  a  cattle-shed  ;  and  the  first 


TORCELLO. 


19 


strong  impression  which  the  spectator  receives  from  the 
whole  scene  is,  that  whatever  sin  it  may  have  been  which  has 
on  this  spot  been  visited  with  so  utter  a  desolation,  it  could 
not  at  least  have  been  ambition.  Nor  will  this  impression  be 
diminished  as  we  approach,  or  enter,  the  larger  church  to 
which  the  whole  group  of  building  is  subordinate.  It  has 
evidently  been  built  by  men  in  flight  and  distress,*  who 
sought  in  the  hurried  erection  of  their  island  church  such  a 
shelter  for  their  earnest  and  sorrowful  worship  as,  on  the  one 
hand,  could  not  attract  the  eyes  of  their  enemies  by  its  splen- 
dor, and  yet,  on  the  other,  might  not  awaken  too  bitter  feelings 
by  its  contrast  with  the  churches  which  they  had  seen  de- 
stroyed. There  is  visible  everywhere  a  simple  and  tender  ef- 
fort to  recover  some  of  the  form  of  the  temples  which  they 
had  loved,  and  to  do  honor  to  God  by  that  which  they  were 
erecting,  while  distress  and  humiliation  prevented  the  desire, 
and  prudence  precluded  the  admission,  either  of  luxury  of 
ornament  or  magnificence  of  plan.  The  exterior  is  absolutely 
devoid  of  decoration,  with  the  exception  only  of  the  western 
entrance  and  the  lateral  door,  of  which  the  former  has  carved 
sideposts  and  architrave,  and  the  latter,  crosses  of  rich  sculpt- 
ure ;  while  the  massy  stone  shutters  of  the  windows,  turning 
on  huge  rings  of  stone,  which  answer  the  double  purpose  of 
stanchions  and  brackets,  cause  the  whole  building  rather  to 
resemble  a  refuge  from  Alpine  storm  than  the  cathedral  of  a 
populous  city  ;  and,  internally,  the  two  solemn  mosaics  of 
the  eastern  and  western  extremities, — one  representing  the 
Last  Judgment,  the  other  the  Madonna,  her  tears  falling  as 
her  hands  are  raised  to  bless, — and  the  noble  range  of  pillars 
which  enclose  the  space  between,  terminated  by  the  high 
throne  for  the  pastor  and  the  semicircular  raised  seats  for  the 
superior  clergy,  are  expressive  at  once  of  the  deep  sorrow  and 
the  sacred  courage  of  men  who  had  no  home  left  them  upon 
earth,  but  who  looked  for  one  to  come,  of  men  (i  persecuted 
but  not  forsaken,  cast  down  but  not  destroyed." 

§  iv.  I  am  not  aware  of  any  other  early  church  in  Italy 
which  has  this  peculiar  expression  in  so  marked  a  degree  :  and 
*  Appendix  43  "  Date  of  the  Duomo  of  Torcello." 


20 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


it  is  so  consistent  with  all  that  Christian  architecture  ought  U 
express  in  every  age  (for  the  actual  condition  of  the  exiles 
who  built  the  cathedral  of  Torcello  is  exactly  typical  of  the 
spiritual  condition  which  every  Christian  ought  to  recognize 
in  himself,  a  state  of  homelessness  on  earth,  except  so  far  as 
he  can  make  the  Most  High  his  habitation),  that  I  would 
rather  nx  the  mind  of  the  reader  on  this  general  character 
than  on  the  separate  details,  however  interesting,  of  the  ar- 
chitecture itself.  I  shall  therefore  examine  these  only  so  far 
as  is  necessary  to  give  a  clear  idea  of  the  means  by  which  the 
peculiar  expression  of  the  building  is  attained. 

§  v.  On  the  opposite  page,  the  uppermost  figure,  1,  is  a 
rude  plan  of  the  church.  I  do  not  answer  for  the  thickness 
and  external  disposition  of  the  walls,  which  are  not  to  our 
present  purpose,  and  which  I  have  not  carefully  examined  ; 
but  the  interior  arrangement  is  given  with  sufficient  accuracy. 
The  church  is  built  on  the  usual  plan  of  the  Basilica  *  that  is 
to  say,  its  body  divided  into  a  nave  and  aisles  by  two  rows  of 
massive  shafts,  the  roof  of  the  nave  being  raised  high  above 
the  aisles  by  wTails  sustained  on  two  ranks  of  pillars,  and 
pierced  with  small  arched  windows.  At  Torcello  the  aisles 
are  also  lighted  in  the  same  manner,  and  the  nave  is  nearly 
twice  their  breadth. f 

The  capitals  of  all  the  great  shafts  are  of  white  marble,  and 
are  among  the  best  I  have  ever  seen,  as  examples  of  perfectly 
calculated  effect  from  every  touch  of  the  chisel.  Mr.  Hope 
calls  them  "  indifferently  imitated  from  the  Corinthian  :  "  J  but 
the  expression  is  as  inaccurate  as  it  is  unjust  ;  every  one  of 
them  is  different  in  design,  and  their  variations  are  as  grace- 
ful as  they  are  fanciful.    I  could  not,  except  by  an  elaborate 

*  For  a  full  account  of  the  form  and  symbolical  meaning  of  the  Basil- 
ica, see  Lord  Lindsay's  "  Christian  Art,"  vol.  i.  p.  12.  It  is  much  to  he 
regretted  that  the  Chevalier  Bunsen's  work  on  the  Basilicas  of  Home  is 
not  translated  into  English. 

f  The  measures  are  given  in  Appendix  3. 

^Hope's  "  Historical  Essay  on  Architecture"  (third  edition,  1840\ 
chap.  ix.  p.  95.  In  other  respects  Mr  Hope  has  done  justice  to  thif 
building  and  to  the  style  of  the  early  Christian  churches  in  general. 


Plate  I. — Plans  of  Torcello  and  Mtjrano. 


Plate  II.  -  The  Acanthus  of  Torcello. 


TORCELLO. 


21 


drawing,  give  any  idea  of  the  sharp,  dark,  deep  penetrations 
of  the  chisel  into  their  snowy  marble,  but  a  single  example  is 
given  in  the  opposite  plate,  fig.  1 ,  of  the  nature  of  the  changes 
effected  in  them  from  the  Corinthian  type.  In  this  capital, 
although  a  kind  of  acanthus  (only  with  rounded  lobes)  is  in- 
deed used  for  the  upper  range  of  leaves,  the  lower  range  is 
not  acanthus  at  all,  but  a  kind  of  vine,  or  at  least  that  species 
of  plant  which  stands  for  vine  in  all  early  Lombardic  and 
Byzantine  work  (vide  Vol.  I.  Appendix  8)  ;  the  leaves  are  tre- 
f oiled,  and  the  stalks  cut  clear  so  that  they  might  be  grasped 
with  the  hand,  and  cast  sharp  dark  shadows,  perpetually 
changing,  across  the  bell  of  the  capital  behind  them.  I  have 
drawn  one  of  those  vine  plants  larger  in  fig.  2,  that  the  reader 
may  see  how  little  imitation  of  the  Corinthian  there  is  in  them, 
and  how  boldly  the  stems  of  the  leaves  are  detached  from  the 
ground.  But  there  is  another  circumstance  in  this  ornament 
still  more  noticeable.  The  band  which  encircles  the  shaft  be- 
neath the  spring  of  the  leaves  is  copied  from 
the  common  classical  wTreathed  or  braided 
fillet,  of  which  the  reader  may  see  examples 
on  almost  every  building  of  any  pretensions 
in  modern  London.  But  the  mediaeval 
builders  could  not  be  content  with  the  dead  and  meaningless 
scroll:  the  Gothic  energy  and  lo**e  of  life,  mingled  with  the 
early  Christian  religious  symbolism,  were  struggling  daily  into 
more  vigorous  expression,  and  they  turned  ike  wreathed  band 
into  a  serpent  of  three  times  the  length  necessary  to  undulate 
round  the  shaft,  which,  knotting'  itself  into  a  triple  chain,  shows 
at  one  side  of  the  shaft  its  tail  and  head,  as  if  perpetually  gliding 
round  it  beneath  the  stalks  of  the  vines.  The  vine,  as  is  wreil 
known,  was  one  of  the  early  symbols  of  Christ,  and  the  ser- 
pent is  here  typical  either  of  the  eternity  of  his  dominion,  or 
of  the  Satanic  power  subdued. 

§  vi.  Nor  even  when  the  builder  confines  himself  to  the 
acanthus  leaf  (or  to  that  representation  of  it,  hereafter  to  be 
more  particularly  examined,  constant  in  Romanesque  work) 
can  his  imagination  allow  him  to  rest  content  with  its  accus- 
tomed position.    In  a  common  Corinthian  capital  the  leaves 


22 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


nod  forward  only,  thrown  out  on  every  side  from  the  bell 
which  they  surround  :  but  at  the  base  of  one  of  the  capitals 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  nave  from  this  of  the  vines, *  two 
leaves  are  introduced  set  with  their  sides  outwards,  forming 
spirals  by  curling  back,  half-closed,  in  the  position  shown  in 
fig.  4  in  Plate  II.,  there  represented  as  in  a  real  acanthus  leaf  ; 
for  it  will  assist  our  future  inquiries  into  the  ornamentation 
of  capitals  that  the  reader  should  be  acquainted  with  the  form 
of  the  acanthus  leaf  itself.  I  have  drawn  it,  therefore,  in  the 
two  positions,  figs.  3  and  4  in  Plate  II.  ;  while  fig.  5  is  the 
translation  of  the  latter  form  into  marble  by  the  sculptor  of 
Torcello.  It  is  not  very  like  the  acanthus,  but  much  liker 
than  any  Greek  w7ork  ;  though  still  entirely  conventional  in  its 
cinquefoiled  lobes.  But  these  are  disposed  with  the  most 
graceful  freedom  of  line,  separated  at  the  roots  by  deep  drill 
holes,  which  tell  upon  the  eye  far  away  like  beads  of  jet ;  and 
changed,  before  they  become  too  crowded  to  be  effective,  into 
a  vigorous  and  simple  zigzagged  edge,  which  saves  the  designer 
some  embarrassment  in  the  perspective  of  the  terminating 
spiral.  But  his  feeling  of  nature  was  greater  than  his  knowl- 
edge of  perspective  ;  and  it  is  delightful  to  see  how  he  has 
rooted  the  whole  leaf  in  the  strong  rounded  under-stem,  the 
indication  of  its  closing  with  its  face  inwards,  and  has  thus 
given  organization  and  elasticity  to  the  lovely  group  of  spiral 
lines  ;  a  group  of  which,  even  in  the  lifeless  sea-shell,  we  are 
never  weary,  but  which  becomes  yet  more  delightful  when  the 
ideas  of  elasticity  and  growth  are  joined  to  the  sweet  succes- 
sion of  its  involution. 

§  vir.  It  is  not,  however,  to  be  expected  that  either  the 
mute  language  of  early  Christianity  (however  important  a  part 
of  the  expression  of  the  building  at  the  time  of  its  erection), 
or  the  delicate  fancies  of  the  Gothic  leafage  springing  into 
new  life,  should  be  read,  or  perceived,  by  the  passing  trav- 
eller who  has  never  been  taught  to  expect  anything  in  archi- 
tecture except  five  orders  :  yet  he  can  hardly  fail  to  be  struck 
by  the  simplicity  and  dignity  of  the  great  shafts  themselves ; 
by  the  frank  diffusion  of  light,  which  prevents  their  severity 
*  A  sketch  has  been  given  of  this  capital  in  my  folio  work. 


TORCELLO. 


23 


from  becoming  oppressive ;  by  the  delicate  forms  and  lovelj 
carving  of  the  pulpit  and  chancel  screen  ;  and,  above  all,  by 
the  peculiar  aspect  of  the  eastern  extremity  of  the  church, 
which,  instead  of  being  withdrawn,  as  in  later  cathedrals,  into 
a  chapel  dedicated  to  the  Virgin,  or  contributing  by  the  brill- 
iancy of  its  windows  to  the  splendor  of  the  altar,  and  theatri- 
cal effect  of  the  ceremonies  performed  there,  is  a  simple  and 
stern  semicircular  recess,  filled  beneath  by  three  ranks  of 
seats,  raised  one  above  the  other,  for  the  bishop  and  pres- 
byters, that  they  might  watch  as  well  as  guide  the  devotions 
of  the  people,  and  discharge  literally  in  the  daily  service  the 
functions  of  bishops  or  overseers  of  the  flock  of  God. 

§  vm.  Let  us  consider  a  little  each  of  these  characters  in 
succession  ;  and  first  (for  of  the  shafts  enough  has  been  said 
already),  what  is  very  peculiar  to  this  church,  its  luminous- 
ness.  This  perhaps  strikes  the  traveller  more  from  its  con- 
trast with  the  excessive  gloom  of  the  Church  of  St.  Mark's  ; 
but  it  is  remarkable  when  we  compare  the  Cathedral  of  Tor- 
cello  with  any  of  the  contemporary  basilicas  in  South  Italy  or 
Lombardic  churches  in  the  North.  St.  Ambrogio  at  Milan, 
St.  Michele  at  Pavia,  St.  Zeno  at  Verona,  St.  Frediano  at 
Lucca,  St.  Miniato  at  Florence,  are  all  like  sepulchral  caverns 
compared  with  Torcello,  where  the  slightest  details  of  the 
sculptures  and  mosaics  are  visible,  even  when  twilight  is 
deepening.  And  there  is  something  especially  touching  in 
our  finding  the  sunshine  thus  freely  admitted  into  a  church 
built  by  men  in  sorrow.  They  did  not  need  the  darkness ; 
they  could  not  perhaps  bear  it.  There  wras  fear  and  depres- 
sion upon  them  enough,  without  a  material  gloom.  They 
sought  for  comfort  in  their  religion,  for  tangible  hopes  and 
promises,  not  for  threatening^  or  mysteries  ;  and  though  the 
subjects  chosen  for  the  mosaics  on  the  walls  are  of  the  most 
solemn  character,  there  are  no  artificial  shadows  cast  upon 
them,  nor  dark  colors  used  in  them  :  all  is  fair  and  bright, 
and  intended  evidently  to  be  regarded  in  hopefulness,  and  not 
with  terror. 

§  ix.  For  observe  this  choice  of  subjects.  It  is  indeed  pos- 
sible that  the  walls  of  the  nave  and  aisles,  which  are  now 


24 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


whitewashed,  may  have  been  covered  with  fresco  or  mosaic^ 
and  thus  have  supplied  a  series  of  subjects,  on  the  choice  of 
which  we  cannot  speculate.  I  do  not,  however,  find  record  of 
the  destruction  of  any  such  works  ;  and  I  am  rather  inclined 
to  believe  that  at  any  rate  the  central  division  of  the  building 
was  originally  decorated,  as  it  is  now,  simply  by  mosaics  rep- 
resenting  Christ,  the  Virgin,  and  the  apostles,  at  one  extrem- 
ity, and  Christ  coming  to  judgment  at  the  other.  And  if  so, 
I  repeat,  observe  the  significance  of  this  choice.  Most  other 
early  churches  are  covered  with  imagery  sufficiently  sugges- 
tive of  the  vivid  interest  of  the  builders  in  the  history  and 
occupations  of  the  world.  Symbols  or  representations  of 
political  events,  portraits  of  living  persons,  and  sculptures  of 
satirical,  grotesque,  or  trivial  subjects  are  of  constant  occur- 
rence, mingled  with  the  more  strictly  appointed  representa- 
tions of  scriptural  or  ecclesiastical  history  ;  but  at  Torcello 
even  these  usual,  and  one  should  have  thought  almost  neces- 
sary, successions  of  Bible  events  do  not  appear.  The  mind  of 
the  worshipper  was  fixed  entirely  upon  two  great  facts,  to  him 
the  most  precious  of  all  facts, — the  present  mercy  of  Christ  to 
His  Church,  and  His  future  coming  to  judge  the  world. 
That  Christ's  mercy  was,  at  this  period,  supposed  chiefly  to  be 
attainable  through  the  pleading  of  the  Virgin,  and  that  there- 
fore beneath  the  figure  of  the  Eedeemer  is  seen  that  of  the 
weeping  Madonna  in  the  act  of  intercession,  may  indeed  be 
matter  of  sorrow  to  the  Protestant  beholder,  but  ought  not  to 
blind  him  to  the  earnestness  and  singleness  of  the  faith  with 
which  these  men  sought  their  sea-solitudes  ;  not  in  hope  of 
founding  new  dynasties,  or  entering  upon  new  epochs  of  pros- 
perity, but  only  to  humble  themselves  before  God,  and  to 
pray  that  in  His  infinite  mercy  He  would  hasten  the  time 
when  the  sea  should  give  up  the  dead  which  were  in  it,  and 
Death  and  Hell  give  up  the  dead  which  were  in  them,  and 
when  they  might  enter  into  the  better  kingdom,  "where  the 
wicked  cease  from  troubling  and  the  weary  are  at  rest." 

§  x.  Nor  were  the  strength  and  elasticity  of  their  minds, 
even  in  the  least  matters,  diminished  by  thus  looking  forward 
to  the  close  of  all  things.    On  the  contrary,  nothing  is  more 


TORCELLO. 


25 


remarkable  than  the  finish  and  beauty  of  all  the  portions  ol 
the  building,  which  seem  to  have  been  actually  executed  for 
the  place  they  occupy  in  the  present  structure.  The  rudesi 
are  those  which  they  brought  with  them  from  the  mainland  ; 
the  best  and  most  beautiful,  those  which  appear  to  have  been 
carved  for  their  island  church  :  of  these,  the  new  capitals  al- 
ready noticed,  and  the  exquisite  panel  ornaments  of  the  chan- 
cel screen,  are  the  most  conspicuous  ;  the  latter  form  a  low 
wall  across  the  church  between  the  six  small  shafts  whose 
places  are  seen  in  the  plan,  and  serve  to  enclose  a  space 
raised  two  steps  above  the  level  of  the  nave,  destined  for  the 
singers,  and  indicated  also  in  the  plan  by  an  open  line  abed. 
The  bas-reliefs  on  this  low  screen  are  groups  of  peacocks  and 
lions,  two  face  to  face  on  each  panel,  rich  and  fantastic  be- 
yond description,  though  not  expressive  of  very  accurate 
knowledge  either  of  leonine  or  pavonine  forms.  And  it  is  not 
until  we  pass  to  the  back  of  the  stair  of  the  pulpit,  which  is 
connected  with  the  northern  extremity  of  this  screen,  that  we 
find  evidence  of  the  haste  with  which  the  church  was  con- 
structed. 

§  xi.  The  pulpit,  however,  is  not  among  the  least  notice- 
able of  its  features.  It  is  sustained  on  the  four  small  dev 
tached  shafts  marked  at  p  in  the  plan,  between  the  two  pillars 
at  the  north  side  of  the  screen  ;  both  pillars  and  pulpit  stu- 
diously plain,  while  the  staircase  which  ascends  to  it  is  a  com- 
pact mass  of  masonry  (shaded  in  the  plan),  faced  by  carved 
slabs  of  marble  ;  the  parapet  of  the  staircase  being  also 
formed  of  solid  blocks  like  paving-stones,  lightened  by  rich, 
but  not  deep,  exterior  carving.  Now  these  blocks,  or  at  least 
those  which  adorn  the  staircase  towards  the  aisle,  have  been 
brought  from  the  mainland  ;  and,  being  of  size  and  shape 
not  easily  to  be  adjusted  to  the  proportions  of  the  stair,  the 
architect  has  cut  out  of  them  pieces  of  the  size  he  needed, 
utterly  regardless  of  the  subject  or  symmetry  of  the  original 
design.  The  pulpit  is  not  the  only  place  where  this  rough 
procedure  has  been  permitted  :  at  the  lateral  door  of  the 
church  are  tw7o  crosses,  cut  out  of  slabs  of  marble,  formerly 
covered  with  rich  sculpture  over  their  whole  surfaces,  oi 


THE  ATONES  OF  VENICE. 


which  portions  are  left  on  the  surface  of  the  crosses  ;  the 
lines  of  the  original  design  being,  of  course,  just  as  arbitra- 
rily cut  by  the  incisions  between  the  arms,  as  the  patterns 
upon  a  piece  of  silk  which  has  been  shaped  anew.  The  fact 
is,  that  in  all  early  Romanesque  work,  large  surfaces  are  cov- 
ered with  sculpture  for  the  sake  of  enrichment  only  ;  sculpt- 
ure which  indeed  had  always  meaning,  because  it  wras  easier 
for  the  sculptor  to  work  with  some  chain  of  thought  to  guide 
his  chisel,  than  without  any  ;  but  it  was  not  always  intended, 
or  at  least  not  always  hoped,  that  this  chain  of  thought  might 
be  traced  by  the  spectator.  All  that  was  proposed  appears  to 
have  been  the  enrichment  of  surface,  so  as  to  make  it  delight- 
ful to  the  eye  ;  and  this  being  once  understood,  a  decorated 
piece  of  marble  became  to  the  architect  just  what  a  piece  of 
lace  or  embroidery  is  to  a  dressmaker,  who  takes  of  it  such 
portions  as  she  may  require,  with  little  regard  to  the  places 
where  the  patterns  are  divided.  And  though  it  may  appear, 
at  first  sight,  that  the  procedure  is  indicative  of  bluntness 
and  rudeness  of  feeling,  wTe  may  perceive,  upon  reflection, 
that  it  may  also  indicate  the  redundance  of  power  which  sets 
little  price  upon  its  own  exertion.  When  a  barbarous  nation 
builds  its  fortress-walls  out  of  fragments  of  the  refined  archi- 
tecture it  has  overthrown,  we  can  read  nothing  but  its  sav- 
ageness  in  the  vestiges  of  art  which  may  thus  chance  to  have 
been  preserved  ;  but  when  the  newT  wrork  is  equal,  if  not  su- 
perior, in  execution,  to  the  pieces  of  the  older  art  which  are 
associated  with  it,  we  may  justly  conclude  that  the  rough 
treatment  to  which  the  latter  have  been  subjected  is  rather  a 
sign  of  the  hope  of  doing  better  things,  than  of  want  of  feel- 
ing for  those  already  accomplished.  And,  in  general,  this 
careless  fitting  of  ornament  is,  in  very  truth,  an  evidence  of 
life  in  the  school  of  builders,  and  of  their  making  a  due  dis- 
tinction between  work  which  is  to  be  used  for  architectural 
effect,  and  work  which  is  to  possess  an  abstract  perfection ; 
and  it  commonly  shows  also  that  the  exertion  of  design  is 
so  easy  to  them,  and  their  fertility  so  inexhaustible,  that  they 
feel  no  remorse  in  using  somewhat  injuriously  what  they  can 
replace  with  so  slight  an  effort 


T  ORG  ELL  0. 


27 


§  xii.  It  appears  however  questionable  in  the  present  in- 
stance, whether,  if  the  marbles  had  not  been  carved  to 
hand,  the  architect  would  have  taken  the  trouble  to  enrich 
them.  For  the  execution  of  the  rest  of  the  pulpit  is  studi- 
ously simple,  and  it  is  in  this  respect  that  its  design  possesses> 
it  seems  to  me,  an  interest  to  the  religious  spectator  greater 
than  he  will  take  in  any  other  portion  of  the  building.  It  is 
supported,  as  I  said,  on  a  group  of  four  slender  shafts  ;  itself 
of  a  slightly  oval  form,  extending  nearly  from  one  pillar  of 
the  nave  to  the  next,  so  as  to  give  the  preacher  free  room  for 
the  action  of  the  entire  person,  which  always  gives  an  un- 
affected impressiveness  to  the  eloquence  of  the  southern 
nations.  In  the  centre  of  its  curved  front,  a  small  bracket  and 
detached  shaft  sustain  the  projection  of  a  narrow  marble  desk 
(occupying  the  place  of  a  cushion  in  a  modern  pulpit),  which 
is  hollowed  out  into  a  shallow  curve  on  the  ujyper  surface, 
leaving  a  ledge  at  the  bottom  of  the  slab,  so  that  a  book 
laid  upon  it,  or  rather  into  it,  settles  itself  there,  0}3ening  as 
if  by  instinct,  but  without  the  least  chance  of  slipping  to  the 
side,  or  in  any  way  moving  beneath  the  preacher's  hands.* 
Six  balls,  or  rather  almonds,  of  purple  marble  veined  with 
white  are  set  round  the  edge  of  the  pulpit,  and  form  its  only 
decoration.  Perfectly  graceful,  but  severe  and  almost  cold  in 
its  simplicity,  built  for  permanence  and  service,  so  that  no 
single  member,  no  stone  of  it,  could  be  spared,  and  yet  all 
are  firm  and  uninjured  as  when  they  were  first  set  together, 
it  stands  in  venerable  contrast  both  with  the  fantastic  pulpits 
of  mediaeval  cathedrals  and  with  the  rich  furniture  of  those 
of  our  modern  churches.  It  is  worth  while  pausing  for  a  mo- 
ment to  consider  how  far  the  manner  of  decorating  a  pulpit 
may  have  influence  on  the  efficiency  of  its  service,  and  whether 
our  modern  treatment  of  this,  to  us  all-important,  feature  of 
a  church  be  the  best  possible. 

§  xin.  When  the  sermon  is  good  we  need  not  much  concern 
ourselves  about  the  form  of  the  pulpit.    But  sermons  cannot 
always  be  good  ;  and  I  believe  that  the  temper  in  which  the 
congregation  set  themselves  to  listen  may  be  in  some  degree 
*  Appendix  5,  "  Modern  Pulpits." 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


modified  by  their  perception  of  fitness  or  unfitness,  impres 
siveness  or  vulgarity,  in  the  disposition  of  the  place  ap- 
pointed for  the  speaker, — not  to  the  same  degree,  but  some- 
what in  the  same  way,  that  they  may  be  influenced  by  his 
own  gestures  or  expression,  irrespective  of  the  sense  of  what 
he  says.  I  believe,  therefore,  in  the  first  place,  that  pulpit? 
ought  never  to  be  highly  decorated  ;  the  speaker  is  apt  to 
look  mean  or  diminutive  if  the  pulpit  is  either  on  a  very  large 
scale  or  covered  with  splendid  ornament,  and  if  the  interest 
of  the  sermon  should  flag  the  mind  is  instantly  tempted  to 
wander.  I  have  observed  that  in  almost  all  cathedrals,  when 
the  pulpits  are  peculiarly  magnificent,  sermons  are  not  often 
preached  from  them  ;  but  rather,  and  especially  if  for  any  im- 
portant purpose,  from  some  temporary  erection  in  other  parts 
of  the  building  :  and  though  this  may  often  be  done  because 
the  architect  has  consulted  the  effect  upon  the  eye  more  than 
the  convenience  of  the  ear  in  the  placing  of  his  larger  pulpit, 
I  think  it  also  proceeds  in  some  measure  from  a  natural  dis- 
like in  the  preacher  to  match  himself  with  the  magnificence 
of  the  rostrum,  lest  the  sermon  should  not  be  thought  worthy 
of  the  place.  Yet  this  will  rather  hold  of  the  colossal  sculpt- 
ures, and  pyramids  of  fantastic  tracery  which  encumber  the 
pulpits  of  Flemish  and  German  churches,  than  of  the  delicate 
mosaics  and  ivory -like  carving  of  the  Romanesque  basilicas, 
for  when  the  form  is  kept  simple,  much  loveliness  of  color  and 
costliness  of  work  may  be  introduced,  and  yet  the  speaker 
not  be  thrown  into  the  shade  by  them. 

§  xiv.  But,  in  the  second  place,  whatever  ornaments  we  ad* 
mit  ought  clearly  to  be  of  a  chaste,  grave,  and  noble  kind  ; 
and  what  furniture  we  employ,  evidently  more  for  the  honor^ 
ing  of  God's  word  than  for  the  ease  of  the  preacher.  For 
there  are  two  ways  of  regarding  a  sermon,  either  as  a  human 
composition,  or  a  Divine  message.  If  we  look  upon  it  en- 
tirely as  the  first,  and  require  our  clergymen  to  finish  it  with 
their  utmost  care  and  learning,  for  our  better  delight  whether 
of  ear  or  intellect,  Ave  shall  necessarily  be  led  to  expect  much 
formality  and  stateliness  in  its  delivery,  and  to  think  that  all 
is  not  well  if  the  pulpit  have  not  a  golden  fringe  round  it, 


TORCELLO. 


29 


and  a  goodly  cushion  in  front  of  it,  and  if  the  sermon  be  not 
fairly  written  in  a  black  book,  to  be  smoothed  upon  the 
cushion  in  a  majestic  manner  before  beginning  ;  all  this  we 
shall  duly  come  to  expect :  but  we  shall  at  the  same  time  con- 
sider the  treatise  thus  prepared  as  something  to  which  it  is 
our  duty  to  listen  without  restlessness  for  half  an  hour  or 
three  quarters,  but  which,  when  that  duty  has  been  decorously 
performed,  we  may  dismiss  from  our  minds  in  happy  confi- 
dence of  being  provided  with  another  when  next  it  shall  be 
necessary.  But  if  once  we  begin  to  regard  the  preacher, 
whatever  his  faults,  as  a  man  sent  with  a  message  to  us,  which 
it  is  a  matter  of  life  or  death  whether  we  hear  or  refuse  ;  if 
we  look  upon  him  as  set  in  charge  over  many  spirits  in  danger 
of  ruin,  and  having  allowed  to  him  but  an  hour  or  two  in  the 
seven  days  to  speak  to  them  ;  if  we  make  some  endeavor  to 
conceive  how  precious  these  hours  ought  to  be  to  him,  a  small 
vantage  on  the  side  of  God  after  his  flock  have  been  exposed 
for  six  days  together  to  the  full  weight  of  the  world's  tempta- 
tion, and  he  has  been  forced  to  watch  the  thorn  and  the 
thistle  springing  in  their  hearts,  and  to  see  what  wheat  had 
been  scattered  there  snatched  from  the  wayside  by  this  wild 
bird  and  the  other,  and  at  last,  when  breathless  and  weary 
^ith  the  week's  labor  they  give  him  this  interval  of  imperfect 
and  ianguid  hearing,  he  has  but  thirty  minutes  to  get  at  the 
separate  hearts  of  a  thousand  men,  to  convince  them  of  all 
their  weaknesses,  to  shame  them  for  all  their  sins,  to  warn 
them  of  all  their  dangers,  to  try  by  this  wa}'  and  that  to  stir 
the  hard  fastenings  of  those  doors  where  the  Master  himself 
has  stood  and  knocked  yet  none  opened,  and  to  call  at  the 
openings  of  those  dark  streets  where  Wisdom  herself  hath 
stretched  forth  her  hands  and  no  man  regarded, — thirty 
minutes  to  raise  the  dead  in, — let  us  but  once  understand 
and  feel  this,  and  we  shall  look  with  changed  eyes  upon  that 
frippery  of  gay  furniture  about  the  place  from  which  the  mes- 
sage of  judgment  must  be  delivered,  which  either  breathes 
upon  the  dry  bones  that  they  may  live,  or,  if  ineffectual,  re- 
mains recorded  in  condemnation,  perhaps  against  the  utterer 
and  listener  .alike,  but  assuredly  against  one  of  them.  We 


30 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


shall  not  so  easily  bear  with  the  silk  and  gold  upon  the  seat 
of  judgment,  nor  with  ornament  of  oratory  in  the  mouth  of 
the  messenger  :  we  shall  wish  that  his  words  may  be  simple, 
even  when  they  are  sweetest,  and  the  place  from  which  he 
speaks  like  a  marble  rock  in  the  desert,  about  which  the 
people  have  gathered  in  their  thirst. 

§  xv.  Bat  the  severity  which  is  so  marked  in  the  pulpit  at 
Torcello  is  still  more  striking  in  the  raised  seats  and  episcopal 
throne  which  occupy  the  curve  of  the  apse.  The  arrange- 
ment at  first  somewhat  recalls  to  the  mind  that  of  the  Roman 
amphitheatres  ;  the  flight  of  steps  which  lead  up  to  the  central 
throne  divides  the  carve  of  the  continuous  steps  or  seats  (it 
appears  in  the  first  three  ranges  questionable  which  were  in- 
tended, for  they  seem  too  high  for  the  one,  and  too  low  and 
close  for  the  other),  exactly  as  in  an  amphitheatre  the  stairs 
for  access  intersect  the  sweeping  ranges  of  seats.  But  in  the 
very  rudeness  of  this  arrangement,  and  especially  in  the  want 
of  all  appliances  of  comfort  (for  the  whole  is  of  marble,  and 
the  arms  of  the  central  throne  are  not  for  convenience,  but 
for  distinction,  and  to  separate  it  more  conspicuously  from 
the  undivided  seats),  there  is  a  dignity  which  no  furniture  of 
stalls  nor  carving  of  canopies  ever  could  attain,  and  well  worth 
the  contemplation  of  the  Protestant,  both  as  sternly  significa- 
tive of  an  episcopal  authority  which  in  the  early  days  of  the 
Church  was  never  disputed,  and  as  dependent  for  all  its  im- 
pressiveness  on  the  utter  absence  of  any  expression  either  of 
pride  or  self-indulgence. 

§  xvi.  But  there  is  one  more  circumstance  wrhich  we  ought 
to  remember  as  giving  peculiar  significance  to  the  position 
which  the  episcopal  throne  occupies  in  this  island  church, 
namely,  that  in  the  minds  of  all  early  Christians  the  Church 
itself  was  most  frequently  symbolized  under  the  image  of  a 
ship,  of  which  the  bishop  was  the  pilot.  Consider  the  force 
which  this  symbol  would  assume  in  the  imaginations  of  men 
to  whom  the  spiritual  Church  had  become  an  ark  of  refuge  in 
the  midst  of  a  destruction  hardly  less  terrible  than  that  from 
which  the  eight  souls  were  saved  of  old,  a  destruction  in  which 
the  wrath  of  man  had  become  as  broad  as  the  earth  and  as 


MURANO. 


31 


merciless  as  the  sea,  and  who  saw  the  actual  and  literal  edifice 
of  the  Church  raised  up,  itself  like  an  ark  in  the  midst  of  the 
waters.  No  marvel  if  with  the  surf  of  the  Adriatic  rolling  be- 
tween them  and  the  shores  of  their  birth,  from  which  they 
were  separated  for  ever,  they  should  have  looked  upon  each 
other  as  the  disciples  did  when  the  storm  came  down  on  the 
Tiberias  Lake,  and  have  yielded  ready  and  loving  obedience 
to  those  who  ruled  them  in  His  name,  who  had  there  rebuked 
the  winds  and  commanded  stillness  to  the  sea.  And  if  the 
stranger  would  yet  learn  in  what  spirit  it  was  that  the  domin- 
ion of  Venice  was  begun,  and  in  what  strength  she  went  forth 
conquering  and  to  conquer,  let  him  not  seek  to  estimate  the 
wealth  of  her  arsenals  or  number  of  her  armies,  nor  look 
upon  the  pageantry  of  her  palaces,  nor  enter  into  the  secrets 
of  her  councils  ;  but  let  him  ascend  the  highest  tier  of  the 
stern  ledges  that  sweep  round  the  altar  of  Torcello,  and  then, 
looking  as  the  pilot  did  of  old  along  the  marble  ribs  of  the 
goodly  temple-ship,  let  him  repeople  its  veined  deck  with  the 
shadows  of  its  dead  mariners,  and  strive  to  feel  in  himself  the 
strength  of  heart  that  was  kindled  within  them,  when  first, 
after  the  pillars  of  it  had  settled  in  the  sand,  and  the  roof  of 
it  had  been  closed  against  the  angry  sky  that  was  still  red- 
dened by  the  fires  of  their  homesteads, — first,  within  the 
shelter  of  its  knitted  walls,  amidst  the  murmur  of  the  waste 
of  waves  and  the  beating  of  the  wings  of  the  sea-birds  round 
the  rock  that  was  strange  to  them, — rose  that  ancient  hymn, 
in  the  power  of  their  gathered  voices  : 

The  sea  is  His,  and  He  made  it  : 
And  His  hands  prepared  the  dry  land. 


CHAPTER  III. 

MURANO. 

§  i.  The  decay  of  the  city  of  Venice  is,  in  many  respects, 
like  that  of  an  outwearied  and  aged  human  frame  ;  the  cause 
of  its  decrepitude  is  indeed  at  the  heart,  but  the  outward 
appearances  of  it  are  first  at  the  extremities.    In  the  centre  of 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


the  city  there  are  still  places  where  some  evidence  of  vitality 
remains,  and  where,  with  kind  closing  of  the  eyes  to  signs,  too 
manifest  even  there,  of  distress  and  declining  fortune,  the 
stranger  may  succeed  in  imagining,  for  a  little  while,  what 
must  have  been  the  aspect  of  Venice  in  her  prime.  But  this 
lingering  pulsation  has  not  force  enough  any  more  to  penetrate 
into  the  suburbs  and  outskirts  of  the  city  ;  the  frost  of  death 
has  there  seized  upon  it  irrevocably,  and  the  grasp  of  mortal 
disease  is  marked  daily  by  the  increasing  breadth  of  its  belt  of 
ruin.  Nowhere  is  this  seen  more  grievously  than  along  the 
great  north-eastern  boundary,  once  occupied  by  the  smaller 
palaces  of  the  Venetians,  built  for  pleasure  or  repose  ;  the 
nobler  piles  along  the  grand  canal  being  reserved  for  the  pomp 
and  business  of  daily  life.  To  such  smaller  palaces  some 
garden  ground  was  commonly  attached,  opening  to  the  water- 
side ;  and,  in  front  of  these  villas  and  gardens,  the  lagoon  was 
wont  to  be  covered  in  the  evening  by  gondolas  :  the  space  of 
it  between  this  part  of  the  city  and  the  island  group  of  Murano 
being  to  Venice,  in  her  time  of  power,  what  its  parks  are  to 
London  ;  only  gondolas  were  used  instead  of  carriages,  and  the 
crowd  of  the  population  did  not  come  out  till  towards  sunset, 
and  prolonged  their  pleasures  far  into  the  night,  company 
answering  to  company  with  alternate  singing. 

§  ii.  If,  knowing  this  custom  of  the  Venetians,  and  with  a 
vision  in  his  mind  of  summer  palaces  lining  the  shore,  and 
myrtle  gardens  sloping  to  the  sea,  the  traveller  now  seeks  this 
suburb  of  Venice,  he  will  be  strangely  and  sadly  surprised  to 
find  a  new  but  perfectly  desolate  quay,  about  a  mile  in  length, 
extending  from  the  arsenal  to  the  Sacca  della  Misericordia,  in 
front  of  a  line  of  miserable  houses  built  in  the  course  of  the 
last  sixty  or  eighty  years,  yet  already  tottering  to  their  ruin  ; 
and  not  less  to  find  that  the  principal  object  in  the  view  which 
these  houses  (built  partly  in  front  and  partly  on  the  ruins  of 
the  ancient  palaces)  now  command  is  a  dead  brick  wall  about 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  across  the  water,  interrupted  only  by  a  kind 
of  white  lodge,  the  cheerfulness  of  which  prospect  is  not  en- 
hanced by  his  finding  that  this  wall  encloses  the  principal 
public  cemetery  of  Venice.    He  may,  perhaps,  marvel  for  a 


Ml!  KAMI 


33 


few  moments  at  the  singular  taste  of  the  old  Venetians  in  tak* 
ing  their  pleasure  under  a  churchyard  wall  :  but,  on  further 
inquiry,  he  will  find  that  the  building  on  the  island,  like  those 
on  the  shore,  is  recent,  that  it  stands  on  the  ruins  of  the 
Church  of  St.  Cristoforo  della  Pace  ;  and  that  with  a  singular, 
because  unintended,  moral,  the  modern  Venetians  have  re- 
placed the  Peace  of  the  Christ-bearer  by  the  Peace  of  Death, 
and  where  they  once  went,  as  the  sun  set  daily,  to  their  pleas« 
ure,  now  go,  as  the  sun  sets  to  each  of  them  for  ever,  to  their 
graves. 

§  in.  Yet  the  power  of  Nature  cannot  be  shortened  by  the 
folly,  nor  her  beauty  altogether  saddened  by  the  misery,  of 
man.  The  broad  tides  still  ebb  and  flow  brightly  about  the 
island  of  the  dead,  and  the  linked  conclave  of  the  Alps  know 
no  decline  from  their  old  pre-eminence,  nor  stoop  from  their 
golden  thrones  in  the  circle  of  the  horizon.  So  lovely  is  the 
scene  still,  in  spite  of  all  its  injuries,  that  we  shall  find  our- 
selves drawn  there  again  and  again  at  evening  out  of  the  nar- 
row canals  and  streets  of  the  city,  to  watch  the  wreaths  of  the 
sea-mists  weaving  themselves  like  mourning  veils  around  the 
mountains  far  away,  and  listen  to  the  green  waves  as  they  fret 
and  sigh  along  the  cemetery  shore. 

§  iv.  But  it  is  morning  now  :  we  have  a  hard  day's  work  to 
do  at  Murano,  and  our  boat  shoots  swiftly  from  beneath  the 
last  bridge  of  Venice,  and  brings  us  out  into  the  open  sea  and 
sky. 

The  pure  cumuli  of  cloud  lie  crowded  and  leaning  against 
one  another,  rank  beyond  rank,  far  over  the  shining  water, 
each  cut  away  at  its  foundation  by  a  level  line,  trenchant  and 
clear,  till  they  sink  to  the  horizon  like  a  flight  of  marble  steps, 
except  where  the  mountains  meet  them,  and  are  lost  in  them, 
barred  across  by  the  grey  terraces  of  those  cloud  foundations, 
and  reduced  into  one  crestless  bank  of  blue,  spotted  here  and 
there  with  strange  flakes  of  wan,  aerial,  greenish  light,  strewed 
upon  them  like  snow.  And  underneath  is  the  long  dark  line 
of  the  mainland,  fringed  with  low  trees;  and  then  the  wide- 
waving  surface  of  the  burnished  lagoon  trembling  slowly,  and 
shaking  out  into  forked  bands  of  lengthening  light  the  images 
Vol.  1L— 3 


34 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


of  the  towers  of  cloud  above.  To  the  north,  there  is  first  the 
great  cemetery  wall,  then  the  long  stray  buildings  of  Murano, 
and  the  island  villages  beyond,  glittering  in  intense  crystalline 
vermilion,  like  so  much  jewellery  scattered  on  a  mirror,  their 
towers  poised  apparently  in  the  air  a  little  above  the  horizon, 
and  their  reflections,  as  sharp  and  vivid  and  substantial  as 
themselves,  thrown  on  the  vacancy  between  them  and  the  sea. 
And  thus  the  villages  seem  standing  on  the  air  ;  and,  to  the 
east,  there  is  a  cluster  of  ships  that  seem  sailing  on  the  land  ; 
for  the  sandy  line  of  the  Lido  stretches  itself  between  us  and 
them,  and  we  can  see  the  tall  white  sails  moving  beyond  it, 
but  not  the  sea,  only  there  is  a  sense  of  the  great  sea  being 
indeed  there,  and  a  solemn  strength  of  gleaming  light  in  sky 
above. 

§  v.  The  most  discordant  feature  in  the  wrhole  scene  is  the 
cloud  which  hovers  above  the  glass  furnaces  of  Murano  ;  but 
this  we  may  not  regret,  as  it  is  one  of  the  last  signs  left  of 
human  exertion  among  the  ruinous  villages  which  surround  us. 
The  silent  gliding  of  the  gondola  brings  it  nearer  to  us  every 
moment ;  we  pass  the  cemetery,  and  a  deep  sea-channel  which 
separates  it  from  Murano,  and  finally  enter  a  narrow  water- 
street,  with  a  paved  footpath  on  each  side,  raised  three  or  four 
feet  above  the  canal,  and  forming  a  kind  of  quay  between  the 
water  and  the  doors  of  the  houses.  These  latter  are,  for  the 
most  part,  low,  but  built  with  massy  doors  and  windows  of 
marble  or  Istrian  stone,  square-set  and  barred  with  iron  ; 
buildings  evidently  once  of  no  mean  order,  though  now  in- 
habited only  by  the  poor.  Here  and  there  an  ogee  window 
of  the  fourteenth  century,  or  a  doorway  deeply  enriched  with 
cable  mouldings,  shows  itself  in  the  midst  of  more  ordinary 
features  ;  and  several  houses,  consisting  of  one  story  only  car- 
ried on  square  pillars,  forming  a  short  arcade  along  the  quay, 
have  windows  sustained  on  shafts  of  red  Verona  marble,  of 
singular  grace  and  delicacy.  All  now  in  vain :  little  care  is 
there  for  their  delicacy  or  grace  among  the  rough  fishermen 
sauntering  on  the  quay  with  their  jackets  hanging  loose  from 
their  shoulders,  jacket  and  cap  and  hair  all  of  the  same  dark- 
greenish  sea-grey.    But  there  is  some  life  in  the  scene,  more 


MURAJSfO. 


35 


than  is  usual  in  Venice :  the  women  are  sitting  at  their  doors 
knitting  busily,  and  various  workmen  of  the  glass-houses 
sifting  glass  dust  upon  the  pavement,  and  strange  cries  com- 
ing from  one  side  of  the  canal  to  the  other,  and  ringing  far 
along  the  crowded  water,  from  venders  of  figs  and  grapes,  and 
gourds  and  shell-fish  ;  cries  partly  descriptive  of  the  eatables 
in  question,  but  interspersed  with  others  of  a  character  unin- 
telligible in  proportion  to  their  violence,  and  fortunately  so 
if  we  may  judge  by  a  sentence  which  is  stencilled  in  black, 
within  a  garland,  on  the  whitewashed  walls  of  nearly  every 
other  house  in  the  street,  but  which,  how  often  soever  written, 
no  one  seems  to  regard  :  "Bestemme  non  piu.   Lodate  Gesh." 

§  vi.  We  push  our  way  on  between  large  barges  laden  with 
fresh  water  from  Fusina,  in  round  white  tubs  seven  feet  across, 
and  complicated  boats  full  of  all  manner  of  nets  that  look  as 
if  they  could  never  be  disentangled,  hanging  from  their  masts 
and  over  their  sides  ;  and  presently  pass  under  a  bridge  with 
the  lion  of  St.  Mark  on  its  archivolt,  and  another  on  a  pillar 
at  the  end  of  the  parapet,  a  small  red  lion  with  much  of  the 
puppy  in  his  face,  looking  vacantly  up  into  the  air  (in  passing 
we  may  note  that,  instead  of  feathers,  his  wings  are  covered 
with  hair,  and  in  several  other  points  the  manner  of  his  sculpt- 
ure is  not  uninteresting).  Presently  the  canal  turns  a  little 
to  the  left,  and  thereupon  becomes  more  quiet,  the  main  bustle 
of  the  water-street  being  usually  confined  to  the  first  straight 
reach  of  it,  some  quarter  of  a  mile  long,  the  Cheapside  of 
Mnrano.  We  pass  a  considerable  church  on  the  left,  St.  Pietro, 
and  a  little  square  opposite  to  it  with  a  few  acacia  trees,  and 
then  find  our  boat  suddenly  seized  by  a  strong  green  eddy, 
and  whirled  into  the  tide-way  of  one  of  the  main  channels  of 
the  lagoon,  which  divides  the  town  of  Murano  into  two  parts 
by  a  deep  stream  some  fifty  yards  over,  crossed  only  by  one 
wooden  bridge.  We  let  ourselves  drift  some  way  down  the 
current,  looking  at  the  low  line  of  cottages  on  the  other  side 
of  it,  hardly  knowing  if  there  be  more  cheerfulness  or  melan- 
choly in  the  way  the  sunshine  glows  on  their  ruinous  but 
whitewashed  walls,  and  sparkles  on  the  rushing  of  the  green 
water  by  the  grass  grown  quay.    It  needs  a  strong  stroke  of 


36 


THE  ST0NE8  OF  VENIOti. 


the  oar  to  "bring  us  into  the  mouth  of  another  quiet  canal  on 
ilie  farther  side  of  the  tide-way,  and  we  are  still  somewhat 
giddy  when  we  run  the  head  of  the  gondola  into  the  sand  on 
the  left-hand  side  of  this  more  sluggish  stream,  and  land  under 
the  east  end  of  the  church  of  San  Donato,  the  "Matrice  "  or 
"  Mother  "  Church  of  Murano. 

§  vii.  It  stands,  it  and  the  heavy  campanile  detached  from 
it  a  few  yards,  in  a  small  triangular  field  of  somewhat  fresher 
grass  than  is  usual  near  Venice,  traversed  by  a  paved  walk 
with  green  mosaic  of  short  grass  between  the  rude  squares  of 
its  stones,  bounded  on  one  side  by  ruinous  garden  walls,  on 
another  by  a  line  of  low  cottages,  on  the  third,  the  base  of  the 
triangle,  by  the  shallow  canal  from  which  we  have  just  landed. 
Near  the  point  of  the  triangular  space  is  a  simple  well,  bear- 
ing date  1502  ;  in  its  widest  part,  between  the  canal  and  cam- 
panile,  is  a  four-square  hollow  pillar,  each  side  formed  by  a 
separate  slab  of  stone,  to  which  the  iron  hasps  are  still  attached 
that  once  secured  the  Venetian  standard. 

The  cathedral  itself  occupies  the  northern  angle  of  the 
field,  encumbered  with  modern  buildings,  small  outhouse-like 
chapels,  and  wastes  of  white  wall  with  blank  square  windows, 
and  itself  utterly  defaced  in  the  whole  body  of  it,  nothing  but 
the  apse  having  been  spared  ;  the  original  plan  is  only  discov- 
erable by  careful  examination,  and  even  then  but  partially. 
The  whole  impression  and  effect  of  the  building  are  irretriev- 
ably lost,  but  the  fragments  of  it  are  still  most  precious. 

"We  must  first  briefly  state  what  is  known  of  its  history. 

§  viii.  The  legends  of  the  Eomish  Church,  though  gener- 
ally more  insipid  and  less  varied  than  those  of  Paganism,  de- 
serve audience  from  us  on  this  ground,  if  on  no  other,  that 
they  have  once  been  sincerely  believed  by  good  men,  and  have 
had  no  ineffective  agency  in  the  foundation  of  the  existent 
European  mind.  The  reader  must  not  therefore  accuse  me  of 
trifling,  when  I  record  for  him  the  first  piece  of  information  I 
have  been  able  to  collect  respecting  the  cathedral  of  Murano  : 
namely,  that  the  emperor  Otho  the  Great,  being  overtaken  by 
a  storm  on  the  Adriatic,  vowed,  if  he  were  preserved,  to  build 
and  dedicate  a  church  to  the  Virgin,  in  whatever  place  might 


MURANO. 


31 


be  most  pleasing  to  her ;  that  the  storm  thereupon  abated ; 
and  the  Virgin  appearing  to  Otho  in  a  dream  showed  him, 
covered  with  red  lilies,  that  very  triangular  field  on  which  we 
were  but  now  standing,  amidst  the  ragged  weeds  and  shattered 
pavement.  The  emperor  obeyed  the  vision  ;  and  the  church 
was  consecrated  on  the  15th  of  August,  957. 

§  ix.  Whatever  degree  of  credence  v/e  may  feel  disposed 
to  attach  to  this  piece  of  history,  there  is  no  question  that  a 
church  was  built  on  this  spot  before  the  close  of  the  tenth 
century  :  since  in  the  year  999  we  find  the  incumbent  of  the 
Basilica  (note  this  word,  it  is  of  some  importance)  di  Santa 
Maria  Plebania  di  Murano  taking  an  oath  of  obedience  to  the 
Bishop  of  the  Altinat  church,  and  engaging  at  the  same  time 
to  give  the  said  bishop  his  dinner  on  the  Domenica  in  Albis, 
when  the  prelate  held  a  confirmation  in  the  mother  church,  as 
it  was  then  commonly  called,  of  Murano.  From  this  period, 
for  more  than  a  century,  I  can  find  no  records  of  any  altera- 
tions made  in  the  fabric  of  the  church,  but  there  exist  very 
full  details  of  the  quarrels  which  arose  between  its  incumbents 
and  those  of  San  Stefano,  San  Cipriano,  San  Salvatore,  and 
the  other  churches  of  Murano,  touching  the  due  obedience 
which  their  less  numerous  or  less  ancient  brotherhoods  owed 
to  St.  Mary's. 

These  differences  seem  to  have  been  renewed  at  the  elec- 
tion of  every  new  abbot  by  each  of  the  fraternities,  and  must 
have  been  growing  serious  when  the  patriarch  of  Grado, 
Henry  Dandolo,  interfered  in  1102,  and,  in  order  to  seal  a 
peace  between  the  two  principal  opponents,  ordered  that  the 
abbot  of  St.  Stephen's  should  be  present  at  the  service  in  St. 
Mary's  on  the  night  of  the  Epiphany,  and  that  the  abbot  of 
St.  Mary's  should  visit  him  of  Si  Stephen's  on  St.  Stephen's 
day  ;  and  that  then  the  two  abbots  "  should  eat  apples  and 
drink  good  wine  together,  in  peace  and  charity."* 

*  ' 4  Mela,  e  buon  vino,  con  pace  e  carita."  Memorie  Storiche  de' 
Veneti  Primi  e  Secondi,  di  Jacopo  Filiasi  (Padua,  1811),  torn.  iii.  cap. 
23.  Perhaps,  in  the  choice  of  the  abbot's  cheer,  there  was  some  occult 
reference  to  the  verse  of  Solo-non's  Song:  "Stay  me  with  flagons,  coni- 
fer t  me  with  apples." 


38 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE, 


§  x.  But  even  this  kindly  effort  seems  to  hare  been  with, 
out  result :  the  irritated  pride  of  the  antagonists  remained 
unsoothed  by  the  love-feast  of  St.  Stephen's  day  ;  and  the 
breach  continued  to  widen  until  the  abbot  of  St.  Mary's  ol> 
tained  a  timely  accession  to  his  authority  in  the  year  1125. 
The  Doge  Domenico  Michele,  having  in  the  second  crusade 
secured  such  substantial  advantages  for  the  Venetians  as 
might  well  counterbalance  the  loss  of  part  of  their  trade  with 
the  East,  crowned  his  successes  by  obtaining  possession  in 
Cephalonia  of  the  body  of  St.  Donato,  bishop  of  Eurcea  ; 
which  treasure  he  having  presented  on  his  return  to  the 
Murano  basilica,  that  church  was  thenceforward  called  the 
church  of  Sts.  Mary  and  Donato.  Nor  was  the  body  of  the 
saint  its  only  acquisition  :  St.  Donato's  principal  achievement 
had  been  the  destruction  of  a  terrible  dragon  in  Epirus  ; 
Michele  brought  home  the  bones  of  the  dragon  as  well  as  of 
the  saint ;  the  latter  were  put  in  a  marble  sarcophagus,  and 
the  former  hung  up  over  the  high  altar. 

§  xi.  But  the  clergy  of  St.  Stefano  were  indomitable.  At 
the  very  moment  when  their  adversaries  had  received  this  for- 
midable accession  of  strength,  they  had  the  audacity  "  ad  onta 
de'  replicati  giuramenti,  e  dell'  inveterata  consuetudine,"  *  to 
refuse  to  continue  in  the  obedience  which  they  had  vowed  to 
their  mother  church.  The  matter  was  tried  in  a  provincial 
council ;  the  votaries  of  St.  Stephen  were  condemned,  and  re- 
mained quiet  for  about  twenty  years,  in  wholesome  dread  of 
the  authority  conferred  on  the  abbot  of  St.  Donato,  by  the 
Pope's  legate,  to  suspend  any  of  the  clergy  of  the  island  from 
their  office  if  they  refused  submission.  In  1172,  however,  they 
appealed  to  Pope  Alexander  III,  and  were  condemned  again  : 
and  we  find  the  struggle  renewed  at  every  promising  oppor- 
tunity, during  the  course  of  the  twelfth  and  thirteenth  cen- 
turies ;  until  at  last,  finding  St.  Donato  and  the  dragon  together 
too  strong  for  him,  the  abbot  of  St.  Stefano  "  discovered  "  in 
his  church  the  bodies  of  two  hundred  martyrs  at  once  ! — a  dis- 
covery, it  is  to  be  remembered,  in  some  sort  equivalent  in  those 

*  Notizie  Storiche  delle  Chiese  di  Venezia,  illustrate  da  Flaminio  Cor 
ner  (Padua,  1758;,  p.  615. 


3TURAK0. 


SO 


days  to  that  of  California  in  ours.  The  inscription,  however, 
on  the  facade  of  the  church,  recorded  it  with  quiet  dignity  : — > 
"  mccclxxiv.  a  di  xiv.  di  Aprile.  Furono  trovati  nella  presente 
chiesa  del  protomartire  San  Stefano,  duecento  e  piil  corpi  de' 
Santi  Martiri,  dal  Ven.  Prete  Matteo  Fradello,  piovano  della 
chiesa."  *  Corner,  who  gives  this  inscription,  which  no  longer 
exists,  goes  on  to  explain  with  infinite  gravity,  that  the  bodies 
in  question,  "  being  of  infantile  form  and  stature,  are  reported 
by  tradition  to  have  belonged  to  those  fortunate  innocents  who 
suffered  martyrdom  under  King  Herod  ;  but  that  when,  or  by 
whom,  the  church  was  enriched  with  so  vast  a  treasure,  is  not 
manifested  by  any  document."  f 

§  xii.  The  issue  of  the  struggle  is  not  to  our  present  pur- 
pose. We  have  already  arrived  at  the  fourteenth  century 
without  finding  record  of  any  effort  made  by  the  clergy  of 
St.  Mary's  to  maintain  their  influence  by  restoring  or  beauti- 
fying their  basilica  ;  which  is  the  only  point  at  present  of  im- 
portance to  us.  That  great  alterations  were  made  in  it  at  the 
time  of  the  acquisition  of  the  body  of  St.  Donato  is  however 
highly  probable,  the  mosaic  pavement  of  the  interior,  which 
bears  its  date  inscribed,  1140,  being  probably  the  last  of  the 
additions.  I  believe  that  no  part  of  the  ancient  church  can 
be  shown  to  be  of  more  recent  date  than  this ;  and  I  shall  not 
occupy  the  reader's  time  by  any  inquiry  respecting  the  epochs 
or  authors  of  the  destructive  modern  restorations  ;  the  wreck 
of  the  old  fabric,  breaking  out  beneath  them  here  and  there, 
is  generally  distinguishable  from  them  at  a  glance  ;  and  it  is 
enough  for  the  reader  to  know  that  none  of  these  truly  an- 
cient fragments  can  be  assigned  to  a  more  recent  date  than 
1140,  and  that  some  of  them  may  with  probability  be  looked 
upon  as  remains  of  the  shell  of  the  first  church,  erected  in  the 
course  of  the  latter  half  of  the  tenth  century.    We  shall  per- 

*  "  On  the  14th  clay  of  April,  1374,  there  were  found,  in  this  church, 
of  the  first  martyr  St.  Stefano,  two  hundred  and  more  bodies  of  holy 
martyrs,  by  the  venerable  priest,  Matthew  Fradello,  incumbent  of  the 
church." 

|  Notizie  Storiche,  p,  620. 


40 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


haps  obtain  some  further  reason  for  this  belief  as  we  examine* 
these  remains  themselves. 

§  xiii.  Of  the  body  of  the  church,  unhappily,  they  are  few 
and  obscure  ;  but  the  general  form  and  extent  of  the  build- 
ing, as  shown  in  the  plan,  Plate  L  tig.  2,  are  determined,  first, 
by  the  breadth  of  the  uninjured  east  end  d  e  ;  secondly,  by 
some  remains  of  the  original  brickwork  of  the  clerestory,  and 
in  all  probability  of  the  side  walls  also,  though  these  have 
been  refaced  ;  and  finally  by  the  series  of  nave  shafts,  which 
are  still  perfect.  The  doors  a  and  b  may  or  may  not  be  in 
their  original  positions  ;  there  must  of  course  have  been  al- 
ways, as  now,  a  principal  entrance  at  the  west  end.  The 
ground  plan  is  composed,  like  that  of  Torcello,  of  nave  and 
aisles  only,  but  the  clerestory  has  transepts  extending  as  far 
as  the  outer  wall  of  the  aisles.  The  semicircular  apse,  thrown 
out  in  the  centre  of  the  east  end,  is  now  the  chief  feature  of 
interest  in  the  church,  though  the  nave  shafts  and  the  eastern 
extremities  of  the  aisles,  outside,  are  also  portions  of  the  orig- 
inal building ;  the  latter  having  been  modernized  in  the  in- 
terior, it  cannot  now  be  ascertained  wrhether,  as  is  probable, 
the  aisles  had  once  round  ends  as  well  as  the  choir.  The 
spaces  f  g  form  small  chapels,  of  which  a  has  a  straight  ter- 
minal wall  behind  its  altar,  and  f  a  curved  one,  marked  by 
the  dotted  line  ;  the  partitions  which  divide  these  chapels 
from  the  presbytery  are  also  indicated  by  dotted  lines,  being 
modern  work. 

§  xiv.  The  plan  is  drawn  carefully  to  scale,  but  the  relation 
in  which  its  proportions  are  disposed  can  hardly  be  appreci- 
ated by  the  eye.  The  width  of  the  nave  from  shaft  to  opposite 
shaft  is  32  feet  8  inches  ;  of  the  aisles,  from  the  shaft  to  the 
wall,  18  feet  2  inches,  or  allowing  2  inches  for  the  thickness 
of  the  modern  wainscot,  16  feet  4  inches,  half  the  breadth  of 
the  nave  exactly.  The  intervals  between  the  shafts  are  exact- 
ly one  fourth  of  the  width  of  the  nave,  or  8  feet  2  inches,  and 
the  distance  between  the  great  piers  which  form  the  pseudo- 
transept  is  24  feet  6  inches,  exactly  three  times  the  interval  of 
the  shafts.  So  the  four  distances  are  accurately  in  arithmet- 
ical proportion  ;  i.e. 


MURANQ. 


41 


Ft.  In. 

Interval  of  shafts  ...  82 
Width  of  aisle  .....  16  4 
Width  of  transept  .  .  .  .  24  6 
Width  of  nave  32  8 

The  shafts  average  5  feet  4  inches  in  circumference,  as  near 
the  base  as  they  can  be  got  at,  being  covered  with  wood  ;  and 
the  broadest  sides  of  the  main  piers  are  4  feet  7  inches  wide, 
their  narrowest  sides  3  feet  6  inches.  The  distance  a  c  from 
the  outmost  angle  of  these  piers  to  the  beginning  of  the  curve 
of  the  apse  is  25  feet,  and  from  that  point  the  apse  is  nearly 
semicircular,  but  it  is  so  encumbered  with  renaissance  fittings 
that  its  form  cannot  be  ascertained  with  perfect  accuracy.  It 
is  roofed  by  a  concha,  or  semi-dome  ;  and  the  external  ar- 
rangement of  its  walls  provides  for  the  security  of  this  dome 
by  what  is,  in  fact,  a  system  of  buttresses  as  effective  and 
definite  as  that  of  any  of  the  northern  churches,  although  the 
buttresses  are  obtained  entirely  by  adaptations  of  the  Roman 
shaft  and  arch,  the  lower  story  being  formed  by  a  thick  mass 
of  wall  lightened  by  ordinary  semicircular  round-headed 
niches,  like  those  used  so  extensively  afterwards  in  renaissance 
architecture,  each  niche  flanked  by  a  pair  of  shafts  standing 
clear  of  the  wall,  and  bearing  deeply  moulded  arches  thrown 
over  the  niche.  The  wall  with  its  pillars  thus  forms  a  series 
of  massy  buttresses  (as  seen  in  the  ground  plan),  on  the  top 
of  which  is  an  open  gallery,  backed  by  a  thinner  wall,  and 
roofed  by  arches  whose  shafts  are  set  above  the  pairs  of  shafts 
below.  On  the  heads  of  these  arches  rests  the  roof.  We 
have,  therefore,  externally  a  heptagonal  apse,  chiefly  of  rough 
and  common  brick,  only  with  marble  shafts  and  a  few  marble 
ornaments  ;  but  for  that  very  reason  all  the  more  interesting, 
because  it  shows  us  what  may  be  done,  and  what  was  done,  with 
materials  such  as  are  now  at  our  own  command;  and  because  in 
its  proportions,  and  in  the  use  of  the  few  ornaments  it  possesses, 
it  displays  a  delicacy  of  feeling  rendered  doubly  notable  bv 
the  roughness  of  the  work  in  which  laws  so  subtle  are  observed 
and  with  which  so  thoughtful  ornamentation  is  associated 


42 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


§  xv.  First,  for  its  proportions  :  I  shall  have  occasion  in 
Chapter  V.  to  dwell  at  some  length  on  the  peculiar  subtlety  ol 
the  early  Venetian  perception  for  ratios  of  magnitude  ;  the 
relations  of  the  sides  of  this  heptagonal  apse  supply  one  of  the 
first  and  most  curious  instances  of  it.  The  pi  oportions  above 
given  of  the  nave  and  aisles  might  have  been  dictated  by  a 
mere  love  of  mathematical  precision  ;  but  those  of  the  apse 
could  only  have  resulted  from  a  true  love  of  harmony. 

In  fig.  6,  Plate  I.  the  plan  of  this  part  of  the  church  is 
given  on  a  large  scale,  showing  that  its  seven  external  sides  are 
arranged  on  a  line  less  than  a  semicircle,  so  that  if  the  figure 
were  completed,  it  would  have  sixteen  sides  ;  and  it  will  be 
observed  also,  that  the  seven  sides  are  arranged  in  four  mag- 
nitudes, the  widest  being  the  central  one.  The  brickwork  is 
so  much  worn  away,  that  the  measures  of  the  arches  are  not 
easily  ascertainable,  but  those  of  the  plinth  on  which  they 
stand,  which  is  nearly  uninjured,  may  be  obtained  accurately. 
This  plinth  is  indicated  by  the  open  line  in  the  ground  plan, 
and  its  sides  measure  respectively  : 


Ft. 

In. 

1st.  a  b  in  plan  . 

6 

7 

2nd.  be 

7 

7 

3rd.  cd 

7 

5 

4th.  d  e  (central) 

7 

10 

5th.«/  .... 

7 

5 

■fg     •  • 

7 

8 

7  th.  gh    -  . 

6 

10 

§  xvi.  Now  observe  what  subtle  feeling  is  indicated  by  this 
delicacy  of  proportion.  How  fine  must  the  perceptions  of 
grace  have  been  in  those  builders  who  could  not  be  content 
without  some  change  between  the  second  and  third,  the  fifth 
and  sixth  terms  of  proportion,  such  as  should  oppose  the  gen- 
eral direction  of  its  cadence,  and  yet  were  content  with  a  dimi- 
nution of  two  inches  on  a  breadth  of  seven  feet  and  a  half1 
For  I  do  not  suppose  that  the  reader  will  think  the  curious 
lessening  of  the  third  and  fifth  arch  a  matter  of  accident,  and 


MURANO. 


43 


even  if  he  did  so,  I  shall  be  able  to  prove  to  him  hereafter  that 
it  was  not,  but  that  the  early  builders  were  always  desirous  of 
obtaining  some  alternate  proportion  of  this  kind.  The  rela- 
tions of  the  numbers  are  not  easily  comprehended  in  the  form 
of  feet  and  inches,  but  if  we  reduce  the  first  four  of  them  into 
inches,  and  then  subtract  some  constant  number,  suppose  75, 
from  them  all,  the  remainders  4,  16,  14,  19,  will  exhibit  the 
ratio  of  proportion  in  a  clearer,  though  exaggerated  form. 

§  xvn.  The  pairs  of  circular  spots  at  b,  c,  d,  &c,  on  the 
ground  plan  fig.  6,  represent  the  bearing  shafts,  which  are  all 
of  solid  marble  as  well  as  their  capitals.  Their  measures  and 
various  other  particulars  respecting  them  are  given  in  Appen- 
dix 6.  "  Apse  of  Murano  ;  "  here  I  only  wish  the  reader  to 
note  the  coloring  of  their  capitals.  Those  of  the  two  single 
shafts  in  the  angles  (a,  h)  are  both  of  deep  purple  marble  ;  the 
two  next  pairs,  b  and  g,  are  of  white  marble  ;  the  pairs  c  andy 
are  of  purple,  and  d  and  e  are  of  white  :  thus  alternating  with 
each  other  on  each  side  ;  two  white  meeting  in  the  centre. 
Now  observe,  the  purple  capitals  are  all  left  plain  ;  the  ivhite 
are  all  sculptured.  For  the  old  builders  knew  that  by  carving 
the  purple  capitals  they  would  have  injured  them  in  two  ways  : 
first,  they  wrould  have  mixed  a  certain  quantity  of  grey  shadow 
■with  the  surface  hue,  and  so  adulterated  the  purity  of  the 
color  ;  secondly,  they  would  have  drawn  away  the  thoughts 
from  the  color,  and  prevented  the  mind  from  fixing  upon  it 
or  enjoying  it,  by  the  degree  of  attention  which  the  sculpture 
would  have  required.  So  the}r  left  their  purple  capitals  full 
broad  masses  of  color  ;  and  sculptured  the  white  ones,  which 
would  otherwise  have  been  devoid  of  interest. 

§  xviii.  But  the  feature  which  is  most  to  be  noted  in  this 
apse  is  a  band  of  ornament,  which  runs  round  it  like  a  silver 
girdle,  composed  of  sharp  wedges  of  marble,  preciously  in- 
laid, and  set  like  jewels  into  the  brickwork  ;  above  it  there  is 
another  band  of  triangular  recesses  in  the  bricks,  of  nearly 
similar  shape,  and  it  seems  equally  strange  that  all  the  mar- 
bles should  have  fallen  from  it,  or  that  it  should  have  been 
originally  destitute  of  them.  The  reader  may  choose  his 
hypothesis ;  but  there  is  quite  enough  left  to  interest  us  in 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


the  lower  band,  which  is  fortunately  left  in  its  original  state, 
as  is  sufficiently  proved  by  the  curious  niceties  in  the  arrange- 
ment of  its  colors,  which  are  assuredly  to  be  attributed  to  the 
care  of  the  first  builder.  A  word  or  two,  in  the  first  place,  re- 
specting the  means  of  color  at  his  disposal. 

§  xix.  I  stated  that  the  building  was,  for  the  most  part,  com- 
posed of  yellow  brick.  This  yellow  is  very  nearly  pure,  much 
more  positive  and  somewhat  darker  than  that  of  our  English 
light  brick,  and  the  material  of  the  brick  is  very  good  and 
hard,  looking,  in  places,  almost  vitrified,  and  so  compact  as 
to  resemble  stone.  Together  with  this  brick  occurs  another 
of  a  deep  full  red,  and  more  porous  substance,  which  is  used 
for  decoration  chiefly,  while  all  the  parts  requiring  strength 
are  composed  of  the  yellow  brick.  Both  these  materials  are 
cast  into  any  shape  and  size  the  builder  required,  either  into 
curved  pieces  for  the  arches,  or  flat  tiles  for  filling  the  tri- 
angles ;  and,  what  is  still  more  curious,  the  thickness  of  the 
yellow7  bricks  used  for  the  walls  varies  considerably,  from  two 
inches  to  four  ;  and  their  length  also,  some  of  the  larger  pieces 
used  in  important  positions  being  a  foot  and  a  half  long. 

With  these  two  kinds  of  brick,  the  builder  employed  five  or 
six  kinds  of  marble  :  pure  white,  and  white  veined  with  purple  ; 
a  brecciated  marble  of  white  and  black  ;  a  brecciated  marble 
of  white  and  deep  green  ;  another,  deep  red,  or  nearly  of  the 
color  of  Egyptian  porphyry  ;  and  a  grey  and  black  marble, 
in  fine  layers. 

§  xx.  The  method  of  employing  these  materials  will  be  un- 
derstood at  once  by  a  reference  to  the  opposite  plate  (Plate 
III.),  which  represents  two  portions  of  the  lower  band.  I 
could  not  succeed  in  expressing  the  variation  and  chequering 
of  color  in  marble,  by  real  tints  in  the  print ;  and  have  been 
content,  therefore,  to  give  them  in  line  engraving.  The  dif- 
ferent triangles  are,  altogether,  of  ten  kinds  : 

a.  Pure  white  marble  with  sculptured  surface  (as  the  third  and  fifth 
in  the  upper  series  of  Plate  III.). 

b.  Cast  triangle  of  red  brick  with  a  sculptured  round-headed  piece 
of  white  marble  inlaid  (as  the  first  and  seventh  of  the  upper 
series,  Plate  III.). 


MUBANO. 


45 


&  A  plain  triangle  of  greenish  black  marble,  now  perhaps  consid- 
erably  paler  in  color  than  when  first  employed  (as  the  second  and 
sixth  of  the  upper  series  of  Plate  III. ). 

d.  Cast  red  brick  triangle,  with  a  diamond  inlaid  of  the  above-menJ 
tioned  black  marble  (as  the  fourth  in  the  upper  series  of  Plate 
III.). 

e.  Cast  white  brick,  with  an  inlaid  round-headed  piece  of  marble, 
variegated  with  black  and  yellow,  or  white  and  violet  (not  seen 
in  the  plate). 

f.  Occurs  only  once,  a  green-veined  marble,  forming  the  upper  pari 
of  the  triangle,  with  a  white  piece  below. 

g.  Occurs  only  once.  A  brecciated  marble  of  intense  black  and 
pure  white,  the  centre  of  the  lower  range  in  Plate  III. 

li.  Sculptured  white  marble  with  a  triangle  of  veined  purple  mar' 
ble  inserted  (as  the  first,  third,  fifth,  and  seventh  of  the  lower 
range  in  Plate  III.). 

i.  Yellow  or  white  marble  veined  with  purple  (as  the  second  aiu* 
sixth  of  the  lower  range  in  Plate  III.). 

k.  Pure  purple  marble,  not  seen  in  this  plate. 

§  xxi.  The  band,  then,  composed  of  these  triangles,  set 
close  to  each  other  in  varied  but  not  irregular  relations,  is 
thrown,  like  a  necklace  of  precious  stones,  round  the  apse  and 
along  the  ends  of  the  aisles  ;  each  side  of  the  apse  taking,  of 
course,  as  many  triangles  as  its  width  permits.  If  the  reader 
will  look  back  to  the  measures  of  the  sides  of  the  apse,  given 
before,  p.  42,  he  will  see  that  the  first  and  seventh  of  the 
series,  being  much  narrower  than  the  rest,  cannot  take  so 
many  triangles  in  their  band.  Accordingly,  they  have  only 
six  each,  while  the  other  five  sides  have  seven.  Of  these 
groups  of  seven  triangles  each,  that  used  for  the  third  and 
fifth  sides  of  the  apse  is  the  uppermost  in  Plate  III.  ;  and  that 
used  for  the  centre  of  the  apse,  and  of  the  whole  series,  is  the 
lowermost  in  the  same  plate  ;  the  piece  of  black  and  white  mar- 
ble being  used  to  emphasize  the  centre  of  the  chain,  exactly  as  a 
painter  wTould  use  a  dark  touch  for  a  similar  purpose. 

§  xxn.  And  now,  with  a  little  trouble,  we  can  set  before  the 
reader,  at  a  glance,  the  arrangement  of  the  groups  along  the 
entire  extremity  of  the  church. 

There  are  thirteen  recesses,  indicative  of  thirteen  arches. 
Been  in  the  ground  plan,  fig.  2,  Plate  I.    Of  these,  the  second 


46 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


and  twelfth  arches  rise  higher  than  the  rest ;  so  high  as  to 
break  the  decorated  band  ;  and  the  groups  of  triangles  wo 
have  to  enumerate  are,  therefore,  only  eleven  in  number  ;  on  ft 
above  each  of  the  eleven  low  arches.  And  of  these  eleven, 
the  first  and  second,  tenth  and  eleventh,  are  at  the  ends  of  the 
aisles  ;  while  the  third  to  the  ninth,  inclusive,  go  round  the 
apse.  Thus,  in  the  following  table,  the  numerals  indicate  the 
place  of  each  entire  group  (counting  from  the  south  to  the 
north  side  of  the  church,  or  from  left  to  right),  and  the  letters 
indicate  the  species  of  triangle  of  which  it  is  composed,  as 
described  in  the  list  given  above. 


The  central  group  is  put  first,  that  it  may  be  seen  how  the 
series  on  the  two  sides  of  the  apse  answer  each  other.  It  was 
a  very  curious  freak  to  insert  the  triangle  e,  in  the  outermost 
place  but  one  of  both  the  fourth  and  eighth  sides  of  the  apse, 
and  in  the  outermost  but  two  in  the  third  and  ninth  ;  in  neither 
case  having  any  balance  to  it  in  its  own  group,  and  the  real 
balance  being  only  effected  on  the  other  side  of  the  apse,  which 
it  is  impossible  that  any  one  should  see  at  the  same  time. 
This  is  one  of  the  curious  pieces  of  system  which  so  often 
occur  in  mediaeval  work,  of  which  the  key  is  now  lost.  The 
groups  at  the  ends  of  the  transepts  correspond  neither  in 
number  nor  arrangement ;  we  shall  presently  see  why,  but 
must  first  examine  more  closely  the  treatment  of  the  triangles 
themselves,  and  the  nature  of  the  floral  sculpture  employee] 
upon  them. 

§  xxiii.  As  the  scale  of  Plate  III.  is  necessarily  small,  I  have 
given  three  of  the  sculptured  triangles  on  a  larger  scale  m 
Plate  IV.  opposite.  Fig.  3  is  one  of  the  four  in  the  lower 
series  of  Plate  IV.,  and  figs.  4  and  5  from  another  group. 


6.  h.  i.  h.  g.  h.  i.  h. 


5.  b  c.  a.  &.  a.  c.  b. 

4.  b.  a.  b.  c.  a.  e.  a. 
8.  b.  a.  b.  e.  b.  a, 
2.  a.  b.  c. 
1.  a.  b.  c.  b.  a. 


7.  b.  e.  a.  d.  a.  c.  b. 

8.  a.  e.  a.  c.  b.  a.  b. 

9.  a.  b.  e.  b.  a.  b. 

10.  a.  b.  c.  b. 

11.  b.  a.  c.  a.  f.  a.  a. 


Plate  IV. — Sculptures  of  Murano. 


MURANO. 


47 


The  forms  of  the  trefoils  are  here  seen  more  clearly  ;  they, 
Mild  all  the  other  portions  of  the  design,  are  thrown  out  in  low 
and  flat  relief,  the  intermediate  spaces  being  cut  out  to  the 
depth  of  about  a  quarter  of  an  inch.  I  believe  these  vacant 
spaces  were  originally  filled  with  a  black  composition,  which  is 
used  in  similar  sculptures  at  St.  Mark's,  and  of  which  I  found 
some  remains  in  an  archivolt  moulding  here,  though  not  in 
the  triangles.  The  surface  of  the  whole  would  then  be  per- 
fectly smooth,  and  the  ornamental  form  relieved  by  a  ground 
of  dark  grey  ;  but,  even  though  this  ground  is  lost,  the  sim- 
plicity of  the  method  insures  the  visibility  of  all  its  parts  at 
the  necessary  distance  (17  or  18  feet),  and  the  quaint  trefoils 
have  a  crispness  and  freshness  of  effect  which  I  found  it  almost 
impossible  to  render  in  a  drawing.  Nor  let  us  fail  to  note  in 
passing  how  strangely  delightful  to  the  human  mind  the  tre- 
foil always  is.  We  have  it  here  repeated  five  or  six  hundred 
times  in  the  space  of  a  few  yards,  and  yet  are  never  weary  of 
it.  In  fact,  there  are  two  mystical  feelings  at  the  root  of  our 
enjoyment  of  this  decoration  :  the  one  is  the  love  of  trinity 
in  unity,  the  other  that  of  the  sense  of  fulness  with  order  ; 
of  every  place  being  instantly  filled,  and  yet  filled  with  pro- 
priety and  ease  ;  the  leaves  do  not  push  each  other,  nor 
put  themselves  out  of  their  own  way,  and  yet  whenever 
there  is  a  vacant  space,  a  leaf  is  always  ready  to  step  in  and 
occupy  it. 

§  xxiv.  I  said  the  trefoil  was  five  or  six  hundred  times  re- 
peated. It  is  so,  but  observe,  it  is  hardly  ever  twice  of  the 
same  size  ;  and  this  law  is  studiously  and  resolutely  observed. 
In  the  carvings  a  and  b  of  the  upper  series,  Plate  III,  the 
diminution  of  the  leaves  might  indeed  seem  merely  represen- 
tative of  the  growth  of  the  plant.  But  look  at  the  lower :  the 
triangles  of  inlaid  purple  marble  are  made  much  more  nearly 
equilateral  than  those  of  white  marble,  into  whose  centres  they 
are  set,  so  that  the  leaves  may  continually  diminish  in  size  as 
the  ornament  descends  at  the  sides.  The  reader  may  perhaps 
doubt  the  accuracy  of  the  drawing  on  the  smaller  scale,  but  in 
that  given  larger,  tig.  3,  Plate  IV.,  the  angles  are  all  measured, 
and  the  purposeful  variation  of  width  in  the  border  therefore 


48 


THE  STONES  OF  VENIOtt. 


admits  of  no  dispute.*  Remember  how  absolutely  this  prin- 
ciple is  that  of  nature ;  the  same  leaf  continually  repeated, 
but  never  twice  of  the  same  size.  Look  at  the  clover  under 
your  feet,  and  then  you  will  see  what  this  Murano  builder 
meant,  and  that  he  was  not  altogether  a  barbarian. 

§  xxv.  Another  point  I  wish  the  reader  to  observe  is,  the 
importance  attached  to  color  in  the  mind  of  the  designer. 
Note  especially — for  it  is  of  the  highest  importance  to  see  how 
the  great  principles  of  art  are  carried  out  through  the  whole 
building — that,  as  only  the  white  capitals  are  sculptured  below, 
only  the  white  triangles  are  sculptured  above.  No  colored 
triangle  is  touched  with  sculpture  ;  note  also,  that  in  the  twd 
principal  groups  of  the  apse,  given  in  Plate  III.,  the  centre  of 
the  group  is  color,  not  sculpture,  and  the  eye  is  evidently  in- 
tended to  be  drawn  as  much  to  the  chequers  of  the  stone,  as 
to  the  intricacies  of  the  chiselling.  It  will  be  noticed  also 
how  much  more  precious  the  lower  series,  which  is  central  in 
the  apse,  is  rendered,  than  the  one  above  it  in  the  plate,  which 
flanks  it :  there  is  no  brick  in  the  lower  one,  and  three  kinds 
of  variegated  marble  are  used  in  it,  whereas  the  upper  is  com- 
posed of  brick,  with  black  and  white  marble  only  ;  and  lastly 
■ — for  this  is  especially  delightful — see  how  the  workman  made 
his  chiselling  finer  where  it  was  to  go  with  the  variegated 
marbles,  and  used  a  bolder  pattern  with  the  coarser  brick  and 
dark  stone.  The  subtlety  and  perfection  of  artistical  feeling 
in  all  this  are  so  redundant,  that  in  the  building  itself  the  eye 
can  rest  upon  this  colored  chain  with  the  same  kind  of  delight 
that  it  has  in  a  piece  of  the  embroidery  of  Paul  Veronese. 

§  xxvi.  Such  being  the  construction  of  the  lower  band,  that 
of  the  upper  is  remarkable  only  for  the  curious  change  in  its 
proportions.  The  two  are  separated,  as  seen  in  the  little  wood- 
cut on  the  opposite  page,  by  a  string-course  composed  of  two 
layers  of  red  bricks,  of  which  the  uppermost  projects  as  a 
cornice,  and  is  sustained  by  an  intermediate  course  of  irregu- 

*  The  intention  is  farther  confirmed  by  the  singular  variation  in  the 
breadth  of  the  small  fillet  which  encompasses  the  inner  marble.  It  is 
much  narrower  at  the  bottom  than  at  the  sides,  so  as  to  recover  the 
original  breadth  in  the  lower  border. 


MURANO. 


40 


lar  brackets,  obtained  by  setting  the  thick  yellow  bricks  edge- 
ways, in  the  manner  common  to  this  day.  But  the  wall  above 
is  carried  up  perpendicularly  from  this  projection,  so  that  the 
whole  upper  band  is  advanced  to  the  thickness  of  a  brick  over 
the  lower  one.  The  result  of  this  is, 
of  course,  that  each  side  of  the  apse 
is  four  or  five  inches  broader  above 
than  below  ;  so  that  the  same  num- 
ber of  triangles  which  filled  a  whole 
side  of  the  lower  band,  leave  an  inch 
or  two  blank  at  each  angle  in  the 
upper.  This  would  have  looked 
awkward,  if  there  had  been  the  least 
appearance  of  its  being  an  accidental 
error ;  so  that,  in  order  to  draw  the  eye  to  it,  and  show  that  it 
is  done  on  purpose,  the  upper  triangles  are  made  about  two 
inches  higher  than  the  lower  ones,  so  as  to  be  much  more  acute 
in  proportion  and  effect,  and  actually  to  look  considerably  nar- 
rower, though  of  the  same  width  at  the  base. ,  By  this  means 
they  are  made  lighter  in  effect,  and  subordinated  to  the  richly 
decorated  series  of  the  lower  band,  and  the  two  courses,  iir- 
stead  of  repeating,  unite  with  each  other,  and  become  a  har- 
monious whole. 

In  order,  however,  to  make  still  more  sure  that  this  differ- 
ence in  the  height  of  the  triangles  should  not  escape  the  eye, 
another  course  of  plain  bricks  is  added  above  their  points,  in- 
creasing the  width  of  the  band  by  another  two  inches.  There 
are  five  courses  of  bricks  in  the  lower  band,  and  it  measures 
1  ft.  6  in.  in  height :  there  are  seven  courses  in  the  upper  (of 
which  six  fall  between  the  triangles),  and  it  measures  1  ft. 
10  in.  in  height,  except  at  the  extremity  of  the  northern  aisle, 
where  for  some  mysterious  reason  the  intermediate  cornice  is 
sloped  upwards  so  as  to  reduce  the  upper  triangles  to  the  same 
height  as  those  below.  And  here,  finally,  observe  how  deter- 
mined the  builder  was.  that  the  one  series  should  not  be  a  mere 
imitation  of  the  other  ;  he  could  not  now  make  them  acute 
by  additional  height — so  he  here,  and  here  only,  narrowed 
their  bases,  and  we  have  seven  of  them  above,  to  six  below. 
Vol.  II.— 4 


Fig.  II. 


50 


THE  STORES  OF  VENICE. 


§  xxvii.  We  come  now  to  the  most  interesting  portion  oi 
the  whole  east  end,  the  archivolt  at  the  end  of  the  northern 
aisle. 

It  was  above  stated,  that  the  band  of  triangles  was  broken 
by  two  higher  arches  at  the  ends  of  the  aisles.  That,  how- 
ever, on  the  northern  side  of  the  apse  does  not  entirely  inter- 
rupt, but  lifts  it,  and  thus  forms  a  beautiful  and  curious  archi- 
volt, drawn  opposite,  in  Plate  V.  The  upper  band  of  triangles 
cannot  rise  together  with  the  lower,  as  it  would  otherwise 
break  the  cornice  prepared  to  receive  the  second  story  ;  and 
the  curious  zigzag  with  which  its  triangles  die  away  against 
the  sides  of  the  arch,  exactly  as  waves  break  upon  the  sand,  is 
one  of  the  most  curious  features  in  the  structure. 

It  will  be  also  seen  that  there  is  a  new  feature  in  the  treat- 
ment of  the  band  itself  when  it  turns  the  arch.  Instead,  of 
leaving  the  bricks  projecting  between  the  sculptured  or  col- 
ored stones,  reversed  triangles  of  marble  are  used,  inlaid  to 
an  equal  depth  with  the  others  in  the  brickwork,  but  project- 
ing beyond  them  so  as  to  produce  a  sharp  dark  line  of  zigzag 
at  their  junctions.  Three  of  these  supplementary  stones  have 
unhappily  fallen  out,  so  that  it  is  now  impossible  to  determine 
the  full  harmony  of  color  in  which  they  were  originally  ar- 
ranged. The  central  one,  corresponding  to  the  keystone  in  a 
common  arch,  is,  however,  most  fortunately  left,  with  two  lat- 
eral ones  on  the  right  hand,  and  one  on  the  left. 

§  xxvm.  The  keystone,  if  it  may  be  so  called,  is  of  white 
marble,  the  lateral  voussoirs  of  purple  ;  and  these  are  the  only 
colored  stones  in  the  whole  building  which  are  sculptured  ; 
but  they  are  sculptured  in  a  way  which  more  satisfactorily 
proves  that  the  principle  above  stated  was  understood  by  the 
builders,  than  if  they  had  been  left  blank.  The  object,  ob- 
serve, was  to  make  the  archivolt  as  rich  as  possible  ;  eight  of 
the  white  sculptured  marbles  were  used  upon  it  in  juxtaposi- 
tion. Had  the  purple  marbles  been  left  altogether  plain,  they 
would  have  been  out  of  harmony  with  the  elaboration  of  the 
rest.  It  became  necessary  to  touch  them  with  sculpture  as  a 
mere  sign  of  carefulness  and  finish,  but  at  the  same  time  de- 
stroying their  colored  surface  as  little  as  possible.    The  oma* 


MURANO. 


51 


merit  is  merely  outlined  upon  them  with  a  fine  incision,  as  if  it 
had  been  etched  out  on  their  surface  preparatory  to  being 
carved.  In  two  of  them  it  is  composed  merely  of  three  con- 
centric lines,  parallel  with  the  sides  of  the  triangle  ;  in  the 
third,  it  is  a  wreath  of  beautiful  design,  which  I  have  drawn  of 
larger  size  in  fig.  2,  Plate  V.,  that  the  reader  may  see  how 
completely  the  surface  is  left  undestroyed  by  the  delicate  in- 
cisions of  the  chisel,  and  may  compare  the  method  of  working 
with  that  employed  on  the  white  stones,  two  of  which  are 
given  in  that  plate,  figs.  4  and  5.  The  keystone,  of  which  we 
have  not  yet  spoken,  is  the  only  white  stone  worked  with  the 
light  incision  ;  its  design  not  being  capable  of  the  kind  of 
workmanship  given  to  the  floral  ornaments,  and  requiring 
either  to  be  carved  in  complete  relief,  or  left  as  we  see  it.  It 
is  given  at  fig.  1  of  Plate  IV.  The  sun  and  moon  on  each  side 
of  the  cross  are,  as  we  shall  see  in  the  fifth  Chapter,  constantly 
employed  in  the  keystones  of  Byzantine  arches. 

§  xxix.  We  must  not  pass  without  notice  the  grey  and 
green  pieces  of  marble  inserted  at  the  flanks  of  the  arch. 
For,  observe,  there  was  a  difficulty  in  getting  the  forms  of  the 
triangle  into  anything  like  reconciliation  at  this  point,  and  a 
mediaeval  artist  always  delights  in  a  difficulty  :  instead  of  con- 
cealing it,  he  boasts  of  it ;  and  just  as  we  saw  above  that  he 
directed  the  eye  to  the  difficulty  of  filling  the  expanded  sides 
of  the  upper  band  by  elongating  his  triangles,  so  here,  having 
to  put  in  a  piece  of  stone  of  awkward  shape,  he  makes  that 
very  stone  the  most  conspicuous  in  the  whole  arch,  on  both 
sides,  by  using  in  one  case  a  dark,  cold  grey  ;  in  the  other  a 
vigorous  green,  opposed  to  the  warm  red  and  purple  and 
white  of  the  stones  above  and  beside  it.  The  green  and  white 
piece  on  the  right  is  of  a  marble,  as  far  as  I  know,  exceedingly 
rare.  I  at  first  thought  the  white  fragments  were  inlaid,  so 
sharply  are  they  defined  upon  their  ground.  They  are  indeed 
inlaid,  but  I  believe  it  is  by  nature  ;  and  that  the  stone  is  a 
calcareous  breccia  of  great  mineralogical  interest.  The  white 
spots  are  of  singular  value  in  giving  piquancy  to  the  whole 
range  of  more  delicate  transitional  hues  above.  The  effect  oi 
the  whole  is,  however,  generally  injured  by  the  loss  of  the 


52 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


three  large  triangles  above.  I  have  no  doubt  they  were  pur* 
pie,  like  those  which  remain,  and  that  the  whole  arch  wap 
thus  one  zone  of  white,  relieved  on  a  purple  ground,  encircled 
by  the  scarlet  cornices  of  brick,  and  the  whole  chord  of  color 
contrasted  by  the  two  precious  fragments  of  grey  and  green 
at  either  side. 

§  sxx.  The  two  pieces  of  carved  stone  inserted  at  each  side 
of  the  arch,  as  seen  at  the  bottom  of  Plate  V.,  are  of  different 
workmanship  from  the  rest ;  they  do  not  match  each  other, 
and  form  part  of  the  evidence  which  proves  that  portions  of 
the  church  had  been  brought  from  the  mainland.  One  bears 
an  inscription,  which,  as  its  antiquity  is  confirmed  by  the 
shapelessness  of  its  letters,  I  was  much  gratified  by  not  being 
able  to  read  ;  but  M.  Lazari,  the  intelligent  author  of  the 
latest  and  best  Venetian  guide,  with  better  skill,  has  given  as 
much  of  it  as  remains,  thus : 

I  have  printed  the  letters  as  they  are  placed  in  the  inscrip- 
tion, in  order  that  the  reader  may  form  some  idea  of  the  diffi- 
culty of  reading  such  legends  when  the  letters,  thus  thrown 
into  one  heap,  are  themselves  of  strange  forms,  and  half  worn 
away  ;  any  gaps  which  at  all  occur  between  them  coming  in 
the  wrong  places.  There  is  no  doubt,  however,  as  to  the 
reading  of  this  fragment : — "  T  .  .  .  Sancte  Marie  Domini 
Genetricis  et  beati  Estefani  martiri  ego  indignus  et  peccator 
Domenicus  T."  On  these  two  initial  and  final  T's,  expand- 
ing one  into  Templum,  the  other  into  Torcellanus,  M.  Lazari 
founds  an  ingenious  conjecture  that  the  inscription  records 
the  elevation  of  the  church  under  a  certain  bishop  Dominic  of 
Torcello  (named  in  the  Altinat  Chronicle),  who  flourished  in 
the  middle  of  the  ninth  century.  If  this  were  so,  as  the  in  • 
scrip tion  occurs  broken  off  on  a  fragment  inserted  scornfully 
in  the  present  edifice,  this  edifice  must  be  of  the  twelfth  cen- 
tury, worked  with  fragments  taken  from  the  ruins  of  that 
built  in  the  ninth.  The  two  T's  are,  however,  hardly  a 
foundation  large  enough  to  build  the  church  upon,  a  hundred 


MURANO. 


53 


years  before  the  date  assigned  to  it  both  by  history  and  tra- 
dition (see  above,  §  vm.)  :  and  the  reader  has  yet  to  be  made 
aware  of  the  principal  fact  bearing  on  the  question. 

§  xxxi.  Above  the  first  story  of  the  apse  runs,  as  he  knows 
already,  a  gallery  under  open  arches,  protected  by  a  light 
balustrade.  This  balustrade  is  worked  on  the  outside  with 
mouldings,  of  which  I  shall  only  say  at  present  that  they  are 
of  exactly  the  same  school  as  the  greater  part  of  the  work  of 
the  existing  church.  But  the  great  horizontal  pieces  of  stone 
which  form  the  top  of  this  balustrade  are  fragments  of  an 
older  building  turned  inside  out.  They  are  covered  with 
sculptures  on  the  back,  only  to  be  seen  by  mounting  into  the 
gallery.  They  have  once  had  an  arcade  of  low  wide  arches 
traced  on  their  surface,  the  spandrils  filled  with  leafage,  and 
archivolts  enriched  with  studded  chainwork  and  with  crosses 
in  their  centres.  These  pieces  have  been  used  as  waste  mar- 
ble by  the  architect  of  the  existing  apse.  The  small  arches  of 
the  present  balustrade  are  cut  mercilessly  through  the  old 
work,  and  the  profile  of  the  balustrade  is  cut  out  of  what  was 
once  the  back  of  the  stone  ;  only  some  respect  is  shown  for 
the  crosses  in  the  old  design,  the  blocks  are  cut  so  that  these 
shall  be  not  only  left  uninjured,  but  come  in  the  centre  of  the 
balustrades. 

§  xxxn.  Now  let  the  reader  observe  carefully  that  this  balus- 
trade of  Murano  is  a  fence  of  other  things  than  the  low  gal- 
lery round  the  deserted  apse.  It  is  a  barrier  between  two 
great  schools  of  early  architecture.  On  one  side  it  was  cut  by 
Romanesque  workmen  of  the  early  Christian  ages,  and  fur- 
nishes us  with  a  distinct  type  of  a  kind  of  ornament  which, 
as  we  meet  with  other  examples  of  it,  we  shall  be  able  to  de- 
scribe in  generic  terms,  and  to  throw  back  behind  this  balus- 
trade, out  of  our  way.  The  front  of  the  balustrade  presents 
us  with  a  totally  different  condition  of  design,  less  rich,  more 
graceful,  and  here  showTn  in  its  simplest  possible  form.  From 
the  outside  of  this  bar  of  marble  we  shall  commence  our  prog- 
ress in  the  study  of  existing  Venetian  architecture.  The  only 
question  is,  do  we  begin  from  the  tenth  or  from  the  twelfth 
century  ? 


54 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


§  xxxiii.  I  was  in  great  hopes  once  of  being  able  to  detst- 
mine  this  positively  ;  but  the  alterations  in  all  the  early  build- 
ings of  Venice  are  so  numerous,  and  the  foreign  fragments 
introduced  so  innumerable,  that  I  was  obliged  to  leave  the 
question  doubtful.  But  one  circumstance  must  be  noted, 
bearing  upon  it  closely. 

In  the  woodcut  below,  Fig.  Ill,  b  is  an  archivolt  of  Murano, 
a  one  of  St.  Mark's  ;  the  latter  acknowledged  by  all  historians 
and  all  investigators  to  be  of  the  twelfth  century. 

All  the  twelfth  century  archivolts  in  Venice,  without  ex- 
ception, are  on  the  model  of  a,  differing  only  in  their  decora- 


FlG.  III. 

tions  and  sculpture.  There  is  not  one  wThich  resembles  that 
of  Murano. 

But  the  deep  mouldings  of  Murano  are  almost  exactly  simi- 
lar to  those  of  St.  Michele  of  Pavia,  and  other  Lombard 
churches  built,  some  as  early  as  the  seventh,  others  in  the 
eighth,  ninth,  and  tenth  centuries. 

On  this  ground  it  seems  to  me  probable  that  the  existing 
apse  of  Murano  is  part  of  the  original  earliest  church,  and 
that  the  inscribed  fragments  used  in  it  have  been  brought 
from  the  mainland.  The  balustrade,  however,  may  still  be 
later  than  the  rest ;  it  will  be  examined,  hereafter,  more  care- 
fully.* 

I  have  not  space  to  give  any  farther  account  of  the  exterior 
of  the  building,  though  one  half  of  what  is  remarkable  in  it 
remains  untold.  "We  must  now  see  what  is  left  of  interest 
within  the  walls. 

*  Its  elevation  is  given  to  scale  in  fig.  4,  Plate  XIII.,  below. 


MURANO. 


58 


§  xxxiv.  All  hope  is  taken  away  by  our  first  glance  ;  for  it 
falls  on  a  range  of  shafts  whose  bases  are  concealed  by  wooden 
panelling,  and  which  sustain  arches  decorated  in  the  most 
approved  style  of  Renaissance  upholstery,  with  stucco  roses  in 
squares  under  the  soffits,  and  egg  and  arrow  mouldings  on  the 
architraves,  gilded,  on  a  ground  of  spotty  black  and  green,  with 
a  small  pink-faced  and  black-eyed  cherub  on  every  keystone  ; 
the  rest  of  the  church  being  for  the  most  part  concealed  either 
by  dirty  hangings,  or  dirtier  whitewash,  or  dim  pictures  on 
warped  and  wasting  canvas  ;  all  vulgar,  vain,  and  foul.  Yet 
let  us  not  turn  back,  for  in  the  shadow  of  the  apse  our  more 
careful  glance  shows  us  a  Greek  Madonna,  pictured  on  a  field 
of  gold  ;  and  we  feel  giddy  at  the  first  step  we  make  on  the 
pavement,  for  it,  also,  is  of  Greek  mosaic  waved  like  the  sea, 
and  dyed  like  a  dove's  neck. 

§  xxxv.  Nor  are  the  original  features  of  the  rest  of  the 
edifice  altogether  indecipherable  ;  the  entire  series  of  shafts 
marked  in  the  ground  plan  on  each  side  of  the  nave,  from  the 
western  entrance  to  the  apse,  are  nearly  uninjured  ;  and  I 
believe  the  stilted  arches  they  sustain  are  those  of  the  origi- 
nal fabric,  though  the  masonry  is  covered  by  the  Renaissance 
stucco  mouldings.  Their  capitals,  for  a  wonder,  are  left  bare, 
and  appear  to  have  sustained  no  farther  injury  than  has  re- 
sulted from  the  insertion  of  a  large  brass  chandelier  into  each 
of  their  abaci,  each  chandelier  carrying  a  sublime  wax  candle 
two  inches  thick,  fastened  with  wire  to  the  wall  above.  The 
due  arrangement  of  these  appendages,  previous  to  festal  days, 
can  only  be  effected  from  a  ladder  set  against  the  angle  of 
the  abacus  ;  and  ten  minutes  before  I  wrote  this  sentence,  I 
had  the  privilege  of  Avatching  the  candlelighter  at  his  work, 
knocking  his  ladder  about  the  heads  of  the  caj)itals  as  if  they 
had  given  him  personal  offence.  He  at  last  succeeded  in 
breaking  away  one  of  the  lamps  altogether,  with  a  bit  of  the 
marble  of  the  abacus ;  the  whole  falling  in  ruin  to  the  pave- 
ment, and  causing  much  consultation  and  clamor  among  a 
tribe  of  beggars  who  were  assisting  the  sacristan  with  their 
wisdom  respecting  the  festal  arrangements. 

§  xxxvi.  It  is  fortunate  that  the  capitals  themselves,  being 


56 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


somewhat  rudely  cut,  can  bear  this  kind  of  treatment  bettef 
than  most  of  those  in  Venice.  They  are  all  founded  on  the 
Corinthian  type,  but  the  leaves  are  in  every  one  different  : 
those  of  the  easternmost  capital  of  the  southern  range  are  the 
best,  and  very  beautiful,  but  presenting  no  feature  of  much 
interest,  their  workmanship  being  inferior  to  most  of  the  imi- 
tations of  Corinthian  common  at  the  period  ;  much  more  to 
the  rich  fantasies  which  we  have  seen  at  Torcello.  The  apse 
itself,  to-day  (12th  September,  1851),  is  not  to  be  described  ; 
for  just  in  front  of  it,  behind  the  altar,  is  a  magnificent  cur- 
tain of  new  red  velvet  with  a  gilt  edge  and  two  golden  tassels, 
held  up  in  a  dainty  manner  by  two  angels  in  the  upholsterer's 
service  ;  and  above  all,  for  concentration  of  effect,  a  star  or 
sun,  some  five  feet  broad,  the  spikes  of  which  conceal  the 
whole  of  the  figure  of  the  Madonna  except  the  head  and 
hands. 

§  xxxvu.  The  pavement  is  however  still  left  open,  and  it  is 
of  infinite  interest,  although  grievously  distorted  and  defaced. 
For  whenever  a  new  chapel  has  been  built,  or  a  new  altar 
erected,  the  pavement  has  been  broken  up  and  readjusted  so 
as  to  surround  the  newly  inserted  steps  or  stones  with  some 
appearance  of  symmetry  ;  portions  of  it  either  covered  or 
carried  away,  others  mercilessly  shattered  or  replaced  by 
modern  imitations,  and  those  of  very  different  periods,  with 
pieces  of  the  old  floor  left  here  and  there  in  the  midst  of  them, 
and  worked  round  so  as  to  deceive  the  eye  into  acceptance 
of  the  whole  as  ancient.  The  portion,  however,  which  occu- 
pies the  western  extremity  of  the  nave,  and  the  parts  imme- 
diately adjoining  it  in  the  aisles,  are,  I  believe,  in  their  origi- 
nal positions,  and  very  little  injured  :  they  are  composed 
chiefly  of  groups  of  peacocks,  lions,  stags,  and  griffins, — two 
of  each  in  a  group,  drinking  out  of  the  same  vase,  or  shaking 
claws  together, — enclosed  by  interlacing  bands,  and  alternat- 
ing with  chequer  or  star  patterns,  and  here  and  there  an  at- 
tempt at  representation  of  architecture,  all  worked  in  marble 
mosaic.  The  floors  of  Torcello  and  of  St.  Mark's  are  executed 
in  the  same  manner ;  but  what  remains  at  Murano  is  finer 
than  either,  in  the  extraordinary  play  of  color  obtained  by  the 


MURANO. 


57 


us*>  of  variegated  marbles.  At  St.  Mark's  the  patterns  are 
more  intricate,  and  the  pieces  far  more  skilfully  set  together ; 
but  each  piece  is  there  commonly  of  one  color  :  at  Murano 
every  fragment  is  itself  variegated,  and  all  are  arranged  with 
a  skill  and  feeling  not  to  be  taught,  and  to  be  observed  with 
deep  reverence,  for  that  pavement  is  not  dateless,  like  the 
rest  of  the  church  ;  it  bears  its  date  on  one  of  its  central  cir- 
cles, 1140,  and  is,  in  my  mind,  one  of  the  most  precious  monu- 
ments in  Italy,  showing  thus  early,  and  in  those  rude  chequers 
which  the  bared  knee  of  the  Murano  fisher  wears  in  its  daily 
bending,  the  beginning  of  that  mighty  spirit  of  Venetian 
color,  which  was  to  be  consummated  in  Titian. 

§  xxxvm.  But  we  must  quit  the  church  for  the  present,  for 
its  garnishings  are  completed  ;  the  candles  are  all  upright  in 
their  sockets,  and  the  curtains  drawn  into  festoons,  and  a 
pasteboard  crescent,  gay  with  artificial  flowers,  has  been  at- 
tached to  the  capital  of  every  pillar,  in  order,  together  with 
the  gilt  angels,  to  make  the  place  look  as  much  like  Paradise 
as  possible.  If  we  return  to-morrow,  we  shall  find  it  filled 
with  woful  groups  of  aged  men  and  women,  wasted  and  fever- 
struck,  fixed  in  paralytic  supplication,  half-kneeling,  half- 
couched  upon  the  pavement ;  bowed  down,  partly  in  feeble- 
ness, partly  in  a  fearful  devotion,  with  their  grey  clothes  cast 
far  over  their  faces,  ghastly  and  settled  into  a  gloomy  animal 
misery,  all  but  the  glittering  eyes  and  muttering  lips. 

Fit  inhabitants,  these,  for  what  was  once  the  Garden  of 
Venice,  "  a  terrestrial  paradise, — a  place  of  nymphs  and  demi- 
gods ! "  * 

§  xxxix.  We  return,  yet  once  again,  on  the  following  day, 
Worshippers  and  objects  of  worship,  the  sickly  crowd  and 
gilded  angels,  all  are  gone  ;  and  there,  far  in  the  apse,  is  seen 
the  sad  Madonna  standing  in  her  folded  robe,  lifting  her  hands 
in  vanity  of  blessing.  There  is  little  else  to  draw  away  our 
thoughts  from  the  solitary  image.  An  old  wooden  tablet, 
•carved  into  a  rude  effigy  of  San  Donato,  which  occupies  the 
central  niche  in  the  lower  part  of  the  tribune,  has  an  interest 

*  "  Luogo  de'  ninfe  e  de'  senii&ei." — M.  Andrea  Calmo,  quoted  hy 
Multinelli,  Annaii  Urbani  di  Venezia  (Venice,  1841),  p.  862. 


58 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


of  its  own,  but  is  unconnected  with  the  history  of  the  olde* 
church.  The  faded  frescoes  of  saints,  which  cover  the  upper 
tier  of  the  wall  of  the  apse,  are  also  of  comparatively  recent 
date,  much  more  the  piece  of  Renaissance  workmanship,  shaft 
and  entablature,  above  the  altar,  which  has  been  thrust  into 
the  midst  of  all,  and  has  cut  away  part  of  the  feet  of  the  Ma- 
donna. Nothing  remains  of  the  original  structure  but  the 
semidome  itself,  the  cornice  whence  it  springs,  which  is  the 
same  as  tint  used  on  the  exterior  of  the  church,  and  the  bor- 
der and  face-arch  which  surround  it.  The  ground  of  the  dome 
is  of  gold,  unbroken  except  by  the  upright  Madonna,  and 
usual  inscription,  M  R  ©V.  The  figure  wears  a  robe  of  blue, 
deeply  fringed  with  gold,  which  seems  to  be  gathered  on  the 
head  and  thrown  back  on  the  shoulders,  crossing  the  breast, 
and  falling  in  many  folds  to  the  ground.  The  under  robe, 
shown  beneath  it  where  it  opens  at  the  breast,  is  of  the  same 
color ;  the  wdiole,  except  the  deep  gold  fringe,  being  simply 
the  dress  of  the  women  of  the  time.  "  Le  donne,  anco  elle  del 
1100,  vestivano  di  turclrino  con  manti  in  spalla,  che  le  copri- 
vano  dinanzi  e  di  dietro."  * 

Round  the  dome  there  is  a  colored  mosaic  border ;  and  on 
the  edge  of  its  arch,  legible  by  the  whole  congregation,  this 
inscription  : 

"quos  Eva  contrivit,  pi  a  virgo  Maria  redemit; 

HANC  CUNCTI  LAUDENT,  QUI  CrISTI  MUNERE  GAUDENT. "  f 

The  whole  edifice  is,  therefore,  simply  a  temple  to  the  Vir- 
gin :  to  her  is  ascribed  the  fact  of  Redemption,  and  to  her  its 
praise. 

§  xl.  "And  is  this,"  it  will  be  asked  of  me,  "the  time,  is 

*  81  The  women,  even  as  far  back  as  1100,  wore  dresses  of  blue,  with 
mantles  on  the  shoulder,  which  clothed  them  before  and  behind." — San- 
Bovino. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  imagine  a  dress  more  modest  and  beautifuL 
See  Appendix  7. 

f  "Whom  Eve  destroyed,  the  pious  Virgin  Mary  redeemed  ; 
All  praise  her,  who  rejoice  in  the  Grace  of  Christ." 
Vide  Appendix  8. 


MUBANO. 


59 


this  the  worship,  to  which  you  would  have  us  look  back  with 
reverence  and  regret  ?  "  Inasmuch  as  redemption  is  ascribed 
to  the  Virgin,  No.  Inasmuch  as  redemption  is  a  thing  desired, 
believed,  rejoiced  in,  Yes, — and  Yes  a  thousand  times.  A3 
far  as  the  Virgin  is  worshipped  in  place  of  God,  No  ;  but 
as  far  as  there  is  the  evidence  of  wrorship  itself,  and  of  the 
sense  of  a  Divine  presence,  Yes.  For  there  is  a  wider  divi- 
sion of  men  than  that  into  Christian  and  Pagan  :  before  we 
ask  what  a  man  worships,  we  have  to  ask  whether  he  worships 
at  all.  Observe  Christ's  own  wrords  on  this  head  :  "  God  is  a 
sj^irit ;  and  they  that  worship  Him  must  worship  Him  in  spirit, 
and  in  truth."  The  worshipping  in  spirit  comes  first,  and  it 
does  not  necessarily  imply  the  worshipping  in  truth.  There- 
fore, there  is  first  the  broad  division  of  men  into  Spirit  wor- 
shippers and  Flesh  worshippers  ;  and  then,  of  the  Spirit 
worshippers,  the  farther  division  into  Christian  and  Pagan, — 
worshippers  in  Falsehood  or  in  Truth.  I  therefore,  for  the 
moment,  omit  all  inquiry  how  far  the  Mariolatry  of  the  early 
church  did  indeed  eclipse  Christ,  or  what  measure  of  deeper 
reverence  for  the  Son  of  God  was  still  felt  through  all  the 
grosser  forms  of  Madonna  worship.  Let  that  worship  be 
taken  at  its  worst  ;  let  the  goddess  of  this  dome  of  Murano 
be  looked  upon  as  just  in  the  same  sense  an  idol  as  the  Athene 
of  the  Acropolis,  or  the  Syrian  Queen  of  Heaven  ;  and  then, 
011  this  darkest  assumption,  balance  well  the  difference  be- 
tween those  who  wrorship  and  those  who  worship  not ; — that 
difference  which  there  is  in  the  sight  of  God,  in  all  ages,  be- 
tween the  calculating,  smiling,  self-sustained,  self-governed 
man,  and  the  believing,  weeping,  wondering,  struggling, 
Heaven-governed  man  ; — between  the  men  who  say  in  their 
hearts  "there  is  no  God,"  and  those  who  acknowledge  a  God 
at  every  step,  "  if  haply  they  might  feel  after  Him  and  find 
Him."  For  that  is  indeed  the  difference  which  we  shall  find, 
in  the  end,  between  the  builders  of  this  day  and  the  builders 
on  that  sand  island  long  ago.  They  did  honor  something  out 
of  themselves  ;  they  did  believe  in  spiritual  presence  judging, 
animating,  redeeming  them  ;  they  built  to  its  honor  and  for 
its  habitation  ;  and  were  content  to  pass  away  in  nameless 


GO 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


multitudes,  so  only  that  the  labor  of  their  hands  might  fix  in 
the  sea-wilderness  a  throne  for  their  guardian  angel.  In  this 
was  their  strength,  and  there  was  indeed  a  Spirit  walking  with 
them  on  the  waters,  though  they  could  not  discern  the  form 
thereof,  though  the  Master's  voice  came  not  to  them,  "It  is  L" 
What  their  error  cost  them,  we  shall  see  hereafter ;  for  it  re- 
mained when  the  majesty  and  the  sincerity  of  their  worship 
had  departed,  and  remains  to  this  day.  Mariolatry  is  no 
special  characteristic  of  the  twelfth  century ;  on  the  outside 
of  that  very  tribune  of  San  Donato,  in  its  central  recess,  is  an 
image  of  the  Virgin  which  receives  the  reverence  once  paid  to 
the  blue  vision  upon  the  inner  dome.  With  rouged  cheeks 
and  painted  brows,  the  frightful  doll  stands  in  wretchedness 
of  rags,  blackened  with  the  smoke  of  the  votive  lamps  at  its 
feet ;  and  if  we  would  know  what  has  been  lost  or  gained  by 
Italy  in  the  six  hundred  years  that  have  worn  the  marbles  of 
Murano,  let  us  consider  how  far  the  priests  who  set  up  this  to 
worship,  the  populace  who  have  this  to  adore,  may  be  nobler 
than  the  men  who  conceived  that  lonely  figure  standing  on 
the  golden  field,  or  than  those  to  whom  it  seemed  to  receive 
their  prayer  at  evening,  far  away,  where  they  only  saw  the 
blue  clouds  rising  out  of  the  burning  sea. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

ST.  MARK'S. 

§  i.  "And  so  Barnabas  took  Mark,  and  sailed  unto  Cyprus.*5 
It  as  the  shores  of  Asia  lessened  upon  his  sight,  the  spirit  of 
prophecy  had  entered  into  the  heart  of  the  weak  disciple  who 
had  turned  back  when  his  hand  was  on  the  plough,  and  who 
had  been  judged,  by  the  chiefest  of  Christ's  captains,  un- 
worthy thenceforward  to  go  forth  with  him  to  the  work,*  how 
wonderful  would  he  have  thought  it,  that  by  the  lion  symbol 
in  future  ages  he  was  to  be  represented  among  men!  how 

*  Acts,  xiii,  13  ;  xv.  88,  39. 


/ST.  MARK'S, 


61 


woful,  that  the  war-cry  of  his  name  should  so  often  reanimate 
the  rage  of  the  soldier;  on  those  very  plains  where  he  himself 
had  failed  in  the  courage  of  the  Christian,  and  so  often  dye 
with  fruitless  blood  that  very  Cypriot  Sea,  over  whose  waves, 
in  repentance  and  shame,  he  was  following  the  Son  of  Conso- 
lation ! 

§  n.  That  the  Venetians  possessed  themselves  of  his  body 
in  the  ninth  century,  there  appears  no  sufficient  reason  to 
doubt,  nor  that  it  was  principally  in  consequence  of  their  hav- 
ing done  so,  that  they  chose  him  for  their  patron  saint.  There 
exists,  however,  a  tradition  that  before  he  went  into  Egypt  he 
had  founded  the  Church  at  Aquileia,  and  was  thus,  in  some 
sort,  the  first  bishop  of  the  Venetian  isles  and  people.  I  be- 
lieve that  this  tradition  stands  on  nearly  as  good  grounds  as 
that  of  St.  Peter  having  been  the  first  bishop  of  Rome  ;*  but; 
as  usual,  it  is  enriched  by  various  later  additions  and  embel- 
lishments, much  resembling  the  stories  told  respecting  the 
church  of  Murano.  Thus  we  find  it  recorded  by  the  Santo 
Padre  who  compiled  the  "  Vite  de'  Santi  spettanti  alle  Chiese 
di  Venezia,"  f  that  "  St.  Mark  having  seen  the  people  of 
Aquileia  well  grounded  in  religion,  and  being  called  to  Rome 
by  St.  Peter,  before  setting  off  took  with  him  the  holy  bishop 
Hermagoras,  and  went  in  a  small  boat  to  the  marshes  of 
Venice.  There  were  at  that  period  some  houses  built  upon  a 
certain  high  bank  called  Rialto,  and  the  boat  being  driven  by 
the  wind  was  anchored  in  a  marshy  place,  when  St.  Mark, 
snatched  into  ecstasy,  heard  the  voice  of  an  angel  saying*  to 
him:  'Peace  be  to  thee,  Mark;  here  shall  thy  body  rest.'  " 
The  angel  goes  on  to  foretell  the  building  of  "  una  stupenda, 
ne  piu  veduta  Citta  ; "  but  the  fable  is  hardly  ingenious 
enough  to  deserve  farther  relation. 

§  in.  But  whether  St.  Mark  was  first  bishop  of  Aquileia  or 
not,  St.  Theodore  was  the  first  patron  of  the  city  ;  nor  can  he 
yet  be  considered  as  having  entirely  abdicated  his  early  right, 

*  The  reader  who  desires  to  investigate  it  may  consult  Galliciolli, 
"  Delle  Memorie  Venete  "  (Venice,  1705),  torn.  ii.  p.  332,  and  the  &u* 
thorities  quoted  by  him. 

t  Venice,  1761,  torn.  i.  p.  126, 


62 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


as  his  statue,  standing  on  a  crocodile,  still  companions  the 
ringed  lion  on  the  opposing  pillar  of  the  piazzetta.  A 
church  erected  to  this  Saint  is  said  to  have  occupied,  before 
the  ninth  century,  the  site  of  St.  Mark's  ;  and  the  traveller, 
dazzled  by  the  brilliancy  of  the  great  square,  ought  not  to 
leave  it  without  endeavoring  to  imagine  its  aspect  in  that 
early  time,  when  it  was  a  green  field  cloister-like  and  quiet,  * 
divided  by  a  small  canal,  with  a  line  of  trees  on  each  side  ; 
and  extending  between  the  two  churches  of  St.  Theodore  and 
St.  Geminian,  as  the  little  piazza  of  Torcello  lies  between  its 
"  palazzo  "  and  cathedral. 

§  iv.  But  in  the  }rear  813,  when  the  seat  of  government 
was  finally  removed  to  the  Eialto,  a  Ducal  Palace,  built  on 
the  spot  where  the  present  one  stands,  with  a  Ducal  Chapel 
beside  it,f  gave  a  very  different  character  to  the  Square  of  St. 
Mark  ;  and  fifteen  years  later,  the  acquisition  of  the  body  of 
the  Saint,  and  its  deposition  in  the  Ducal  Chapel,  perhaps 
not  yet  completed,  occasioned  the  investiture  of  that  chapel 
with  all  possible  splendor.  St.  Theodore  was  deposed  from 
his  patronship,  and  his  church  destroyed,  to  make  room  for 
the  aggrandizement  of  the  one  attached  to  the  Ducal  Palace, 
and  thenceforward  known  as  "  St.  Mark's."  J 

§  v.  This  first  church  was  however  destroyed  by  fire,  when 


the  Ducal  Palace  was  burned  in  the  revolt  against  Candiano, 
in  976.  It  was  partly  rebuilt  by  his  successor,  Pietro  Orseolo, 
on  a  larger  scale  ;  and,  with  the  assistance  of  Byzantine 
architects,  the  fabric  was  carried  on  under  successive  Doges 
for  nearly  a  hundred  years  ;  the  main  building  being  com- 
pleted in  1071,  but  its  incrustation  with  marble  not  till  con- 
siderably later.  It  was  consecrated  on  the  8th  of  October, 
1085;  §  according  to  Sansovino  and  the  author  of  the  u  Chiesa 

*  St.  Mark's  Place,  u  partly  covered  by  turf,  and  planted  with  a  few 
trees  ;  and  on  account  of  its  pleasant  aspect  called  Brollo  or  Broglio, 
that  is  to  say,  Garden."  The  canal  passed  through  it,  over  which  is 
built  the  bridge  of  the  Malpassi.    Galiiciolli,  lib.  I.  cap.  viii. 

|  My  authorities  for  this  statement  are  given  below,  in  the  chapter  on 
the  Ducal  Palace. 

%  Iii  the  Chronicles,  "  Sancti  Marci  Ducalis  Cappella." 

§  "  To  God  the  Lord,  the  glorious  Virgin  Annunciate,  and  the  Protec 


ST.  MARK\l 


Ducale  di  S.  Marco,"  in  1094  according  to  Lazari,  but  cer- 
tainly between  1084  and  1096,  those  years  being  the  limits  of 
the  reign  of  Vital  Falier ;  I  incline  to  the  supposition  that  it 
■was  soon  after  his  accession  to  the  throne  in  1085,  though 
Sansovino  writes,  by  mistake,  Ordelafo  instead  of  Vital  Falier. 
But,  at  all  events,  before  the  close  of  the  eleventh  century  the 
great  consecration  of  the  church  took  place.  It  was  again 
injured  by  fire  in  1106,  but  repaired  ;  and  from  that  time  to 
the  fall  of  Venice  there  was  probably  no  Doge  who  did  not 
in  some  slight  degree  embellish  or  alter  the  fabric,  so  that  few 
parts  of  it  can  be  pronounced  boldly  to  be  of  any  given  date. 
Two  periods  of  interference  are,  however,  notable  above  the 
rest  :  the  first,  that  in  which  the  Gothic  school  had  superseded 
the  Byzantine  towards  the  close  of  the  fourteenth  century, 
when  the  pinnacles,  upper  archivolts,  and  window  traceries 
were  ndded  to  the  exterior,  and  the  great  screen,  with  various 
chapels  and  tabernacle-work,  to  the  interior  ;  the  second,  when 
the  Renaissance  school  superseded  the  Gothic,  and  the  pupils 
of  Titian  and  Tintoret  substituted,  over  one  half  of  the  church, 
their  own  compositions  for  the  Greek  mosaics  with  which  it 
was  originally  decorated  ;  *  happily,  though  with  no  good 
will,  having  left  enough  to  enable  us  to  imagine  and  lament 
what  they  destroyed.  Of  this  irreparable  loss  we  shall  have 
more  to  say  hereafter ;  meantime,  I  wish  only  to  fix  in  the 
reader's  mind  the  succession  of  periods  of  alteration  as  firmly 
and  simply  as  possible. 

§  vi.  We  have  seen  that  the  main  body  of  the  church  may 
be  broadly  stated  to  be  of  the  eleventh  century,  the  Gothic 
additions  of  the  fourteenth,  and  the  restored  mosaics  of  the 

tor  St.  Mark." — Corner,  p.  14.  It  is  needless  to  trouble  the  reader  with 
the  various  authorities  for  the  above  statements:  I  have  consulted  the 
best.    The  previous  inscription  once  existing  on  the  church  itself : 

"  Anno  milleno  transacto  bisque  trigeno 
Desuper  undecimo  fuit  facta  primo,,, 

is  no  longer  to  be  seen,  and  is  conjectured  by  Corner,  with  much  proba- 
bility, to  have  perished  "in  qualche  ristauro." 
*  Signed  Bartolomeus  Bozza,  1634,  1647,  1656,  &o. 


64 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


seventeenth.  There  is  no  difficulty  in  distinguishing  at  a 
glance  the  Gothic  portions  from  the  Byzantine  ;  but  there  is 
considerable  difficulty  in  ascertaining  how  long,  during  the 
course  of  the  twelfth  and  thirteenth  centuries,  additions  were 
made  to  the  Byzantine  church,  which  cannot  be  easily  distin- 
guished from  the  work  of  the  eleventh  century,  being  pur- 
posely executed  in  the  same  manner.  Two  of  the  most  im- 
portant pieces  of  evidence  on  this  point  are,  a  mosaic  in  the 
south  transept,  and  another  over  the  northern  door  of  the 
facade  ;  the  first  representing  the  interior,  the  second  the  ex- 
terior, of  the  ancient  church. 

§  vii.  It  has  just  been  stated  that  the  existing  building  was 
consecrated  by  the  Doge  Vital  Falier.  A  peculiar  solemnity 
was  given  to  that  act  of  consecration,  in  the  minds  of  the 
Venetian  people,  by  what  appears  to  have  been  one  of  the  best 
arranged  and  most  successful  impostures  ever  attempted  by 
the  clergy  of  the  Romish  church.  The  body  of  St.  Mark  had, 
without  doubt,  perished  in  the  conflagration  of  976  ;  but  the 
revenues  of  the  church  depended  too  much  upon  the  devotion 
excited  by  these  relics  to  permit  the  confession  of  their  loss. 
The  following  is  the  account  given  by  Corner,  and  believed  to 
this  day  by  the  Venetians,  of  the  pretended  miracle  by  which 
it  was  concealed. 

"  After  the  repairs  undertaken  by  the  Doge  Orseolo,  the 
place  in  which  the  body  of  the  holy  Evangelist  rested  had 
been  altogether  forgotten  ;  so  that  the  Doge  Vital  Falier  was 
entirely  ignorant  of  the  place  of  the  venerable  deposit.  This 
was  no  light  affliction,  not  only  to  the  pious  Doge,  but  to  ail 
the  citizens  and  people  ;  so  that  at  last,  moved  by  confidence 
in  the  Divine  mercy,  they  determined  to  implore,  with  prayer 
and  fasting,  the  manifestation  of  so  great  a  treasure,  which 
did  not  now  depend  upon  any  human  effort.  A  general  fast 
being  therefore  proclaimed,  and  a  solemn  procession  appointed 
for  the  25th  day  of  June,  while  the  people  assembled  in  the 
church  interceded  with  God  in  fervent  prayers  for  the  desired 
boon,  they  beheld,  with  as  much  amazement  as  joy,  a  slight 
shaking  in  the  marbles  of  a  pillar  (near  the  place  where  the 
altar  oi  the  Cross  is  now),  which,  presently  falling  to  the 


ST.  MARK'S. 


65 


earth,  exposed  to  the  view  of  the  rejoicing  people  the  chest  oS 
bronze  in  which  the  body  of  the  Evangelist  was  laid." 

§  vin.  Of  the  main  facts  of  this  tale  there  is  no  doubt. 
They  were  embellished  afterwards,  as  usual,  by  many  fanciful 
traditions  ;  as,  for  instance,  that,  when  the  sarcophagus  was 
discovered,  St.  Mark  extended  his  hand  out  of  it,  with  a  gold 
ring  on  one  of  the  fingers,  which  he  permitted  a  noble  of 
the  Dolfin  family  to  remove  ;  and  a  quaint  and  delightful 
story  was  further  invented  of  this  ring,  which  I  shall  not 
repeat  here,  as  it  is  now  as  well  known  as  any  tale  of  the 
Arabian  Nights.  But  the  fast  and  the  discovery  of  the 
coffin,  by  whatever  means  effected,  are  facts  ;  and  they  are 
recorded  in  one  of  the  best-preserved  mosaics  of  the  north 
transept,  executed  very  certainly  not  long  after  the  event  had 
taken  place,  closely  resembling  in  its  treatment  that  of  the 
Bayeux  tapestry,  and  showing,  in  a  conventional  manner,  the 
interior  of  the  church,  as  it  then  was,  filled  by  the  people,  first 
in  prayer,  then  in  thanksgiving,  the  pillar  standing  open  be- 
fore them,  and  the  Doge,  in  the  midst  of  them,  distinguished 
by  his  crimson  bonnet  embroidered  with  gold,  but  more  un- 
mistakably by  the  inscription  "  Dux "  over  his  head,  as  uni- 
formly is  the  case  in  the  Bayeux  tapestry,  and  most  other  j)ic- 
torial  wrorks  of  the  period.  The  church  is,  of  course,  rudely 
represented,  and  the  two  upper  stories  of  it  reduced  to  a  small 
scale  in  order  to  form  a  background  to  the  figures  ;  one  of 
those  bold  pieces  of  picture  history  which  wTe  in  our  pride  of 
perspective,  and  a  thousand  things  besides,  never  dare  attempt. 
We  should  have  put  in  a  column  or  two  of  the  real  or  perspec- 
tive size,  and  subdued  it  into  a  vague  background  :  the  old 
workman  crushed  the  church  together  that  he  might  get  it  all 
in,  up  to  the  cupolas  ;  and  has,  therefore,  left  us  some  useful 
notes  of  its  ancient  form,  though  any  one  who  is  familiar  with 
the  method  of  drawing  employed  at  the  period  will  not  push 
the  evidence  too  far.  The  two  pulpits  are  there,  however,  as 
they  are  at  this  day,  and  the  fringe  of  mosaic  fiowerwork 
which  then  encompassed  the  whole  church,  but  which  modern 
restorers  have  destroyed,  all  but  one  fragment  still  left  in  the 
south  aisle.  There  is  no  attempt  to  represent  the  other 
Vol.  II.—  5 


66 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


mosaics  on  the  roof,  the  scale  being  too  small  to  admit  of  thei? 
being  represented  with  any  success  ;  but  some  at  least  of  those 
mosaics  had  been  executed  at  that  period,  and  their  absence  in 
the  representation  of  the  entire  church  is  especially  to  be  ob- 
served, in  order  to  show  that  Ave  must  not  trust  to  any  nega- 
tive evidence  in  such  works.  M.  Lazari  has  rashly  concluded 
that  the  central  archivolt  of  St.  Mark's  must  be  posterior  to 
the  year  1205,  because  it  does  not  appear  in  the  representation 
of  the  exterior  of  the  church  over  the  northern  door;*  but  he 
justly  observes  that  this  mosaic  (which  is  the  other  piece 
of  evidence  we  possess  respecting  the  ancient  form  of  the 
building)  cannot  itself  be  earlier  than  1205,  since  it  repre- 
sents the  bronze  horses  which  were  brought  from  Con- 
stantinople in  that  year.  And  this  one  fact  renders  it  very 
difficult  to  speak  with  confidence  respecting  the  date  of  any 
part  of  the  exterior  of  St.  Mark's  ;  for  we  have  above  seen 
that  it  was  consecrated  in  the  eleventh  century,  and  yet  here 
is  one  of  its  most  important  exterior  decorations  assuredly  re- 
touched, if  not  entirely  added,  in  the  thirteenth,  although  its 
style  would  have  led  us  to  suppose  it  had  been  an  original 
part  of  the  fabric.  However,  for  all  our  purposes,  it  will  be 
enough  for  the  reader  to  remember  that  the  earliest  parts  of 
the  building  belong  to  the  eleventh,  twelfth,  and  first  part  of 
the  thirteenth  century  ;  the  Gothic  portions  to  the  fourteenth  ; 
some  of  the  altars  and  embellishments  to  the  fifteenth  and 
sixteenth  ;  and  the  modern  portion  of  the  mosaics  to  the 
seventeenth. 

§  ix.  This,  however,  I  only  wish  him  to  recollect  in  order 
that  I  may  speak  generally  of  the  Byzantine  architecture  of 
St.  Mark's,  without  leading  him  to  suppose  the  whole  church 
to  have  been  built  and  decorated  by  Greek  artists.  Its  later 
portions,  with  the  single  exception  of  the  seventeenth  century 
mosaics,  have  been  so  dexterously  accommodated  to  the 
original  fabric  that  the  general  effect  is  still  that  of  a  Byzan- 
tine building  ;  and  I  shall  not,  except  when  it  is  absolutely 
necessary,  direct  attention  to  the  discordant  points,  or  weary 
the  reader  with  anatomical  criticism.  Whatever  in  St.  Mark's 
*  Guida  di  Venezia,  p.  6. 


ST.  MARK'S, 


67 


arrests  the  eye,  or  affects  the  feelings,  is  either  Byzantine,  or 
has  been  modified  by  Byzantine  influence  ;  and  our  inquiry 
into  its  architectural  merits  need  not  therefore  be  disturbed 
by  the  anxieties  of  antiquarianism,  or  arrested  by  the  ob- 
scurities of  chronology. 

§  x.  And  now  I  wish  that  the  reader,  before  I  bring  him 
into  St.  Mark's  Place,  would  imagine  himself  for  a  little  time 
in  a  quiet  English  cathedral  town,  and  walk  with  me  to  the 
west  front  of  its  cathedral.  Let  us  go  together  up  the  more 
retired  street,  at  the  end  of  which  we  can  see  the  pinnacles  of 
one  of  the  towers,  and  then  through  the  low  grey  gateway, 
with  its  battlemented  top  and  small  latticed  window  in  the 
centre,  into  the  inner  private-looking  road  or  close,  where 
nothing  goes  in  but  the  carts  of  the  tradesmen  who  supply 
the  bishop  and  the  chapter,  and  where  there  are  little  shaven 
grassplots,  fenced  in  by  neat  rails,  before  old-fashioned  groups 
of  somewhat  diminutive  and  excessively  trim  houses,  with 
little  oriel  and  bay  windows  jutting  out  here  and  there,  and 
deep  wooden  cornices  and  eaves  painted  cream  color  and 
white,  and  small  porches  to  their  doors  in  the  shape  of  cockle- 
shells, or  little,  crooked,  thick,  indescribable  wooden  gables 
warped  a  little  on  one  side  ;  and  so  f orward  till  we  come  to 
larger  houses,  also  old-fashioned,  but  of  red  brick,  and  with 
gardens  behind  them,  and  fruit  walls,  which  show  here  and 
there,  among  the  nectarines,  the  vestiges  of  an  old  cloister 
arch  or  shaft,  and  looking  in  front  on  the  cathedral  square 
itself,  laid  out  in  rigid  divisions  of  smooth  grass  and  gravel 
walk,  yet  not  uncheerful,  especially  on  the  sunny  side  where 
the  canon  s  children  are  walking  with  their  nurserymaids. 
And  so,  taking  care  not  to  tread  on  the  grass,  we  will  go 
along  the  straight  walk  to  the  west  front,  and  there  stand  for 
a  time,  looking  up  at  its  deep-pointed  porches  and  the  dark 
places  between  their  pillars  where  there  were  statues  once, 
and  where  the  fragments,  here  and  there,  of  a  stately  figure 
are  still  left,  which  has  in  it  the  likeness  of  a  king,  perhaps 
indeed  a  king  on  earth,  perhaps  a  saintly  king  long  ago  in 
heaven  ;  and  so  higher  and  higher  up  to  the  great  moulder- 
ing wall  of  rugged  sculpture  and  confused  arcades,  shattered. 


G8 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


and  grey,  and  grisly  with  heads  of  dragons  and  mocking 
fiends,  worn  by  the  rain  and  swirling  winds  into  yet  unseemlier 
shape,  and  colored  on  their  stony  scales  by  the  deep  russet- 
orange  lichen,  melancholy  gold  ;  and  so,  higher  still,  to  the 
bleak  towers,  so  far  above  that  the  eye  loses  itself  among  the 
bosses  of  their  traceries,  though  they  are  rude  and  strong, 
and  only  sees  like  a  drift  of  eddying  black  points,  now  clos- 
ing, now  scattering,  and  now  settling  suddenly  into  invisible 
places  among  the  bosses  and  flowers,  the  crowd  of  restless 
birds  that  fill  the  whole  square  with  that  strange  clangor  of 
theirs,  so  harsh  and  yet  so  soothing,  like  the  cries  of  birds  on 
a  solitary  coast  between  the  cliffs  and  sea. 

§  xi.  Think  for  a  little  while  of  that  scene,  and  the  mean- 
ing of  all  its  small  formalisms,  mixed  with  its  serene  sublim- 
ity. Estimate  its  secluded,  continuous,  drowsy  felicities,  and 
its  evidence  of  the  sense  and  steady  performance  of  such  kind 
of  duties  as  can  be  regulated  by  the  cathedral  clock ;  and 
weigh  the  influence  of  those  dark  towers  on  all  who  have 
passed  through  the  lonely  square  at  their  feet  for  centuries, 
and  on  all  who  have  seen  them  rising  far  away  over  the  wooded 
plain,  or  catching  on  their  square  masses  the  last  rays  of  the 
sunset,  when  the  city  at  their  feet  was  indicated  only  by  the 
mist  at  the  bend  of  the  river.  And  then  let  us  quickly  recol- 
lect that  we  are  in  Venice,  and  land  at  the  extremity  of  the 
Calla  Lunga  San  Moise,  which  may  be  considered  as  there 
answering  to  the  secluded  street  that  led  us  to  our  English 
cathedral  gateway. 

§  xii.  We  find  ourselves  in  a  paved  alley,  some  seven  feet 
wide  where  it  is  widest,  full  of  people,  and  resonant  with  cries 
of  itinerant  salesmen, — a  shriek  in  their  beginning,  and  dying 
away  into  a  kind  of  brazen  ringing,  all  the  worse  for  its  con- 
finement between  the  high  houses  of  the  passage  along  which 
we  have  to  make  our  way.  Over-head  an  inextricable  con- 
fusion of  rugged  shutters,  and  iron  balconies  and  chimney 
flues  pushed  out  on  brackets  to  save  room,  and  arched  win- 
dows with  projecting  sills  of  Istrian  stone,  and  gleams  of  green 
leaves  here  and  there  where  a  fig-tree  branch  escapes  over  a 
lower  wall  from  some  inner  cortile,  leading  the  eye  up  to  the 


ST.  MARK'S. 


69 


narrow  stream  of  blue  sky  high  over  all.  On  each  side,  a  row 
of  shops,  as  densely  set  as  may  be,  occupying,  in  fact,  inter- 
vals between  the  square  stone  shafts,  about  eight  feet  high, 
which  carry  the  first  floors  :  intervals  of  which  one  is  narrow 
and  serves  as  a  door ;  the  other  is,  in  the  more  respectable  shops, 
wainscoted  to  the  height  of  the  counter  and  glazed  above,  but 
in  those  of  the  poorer  tradesmen  left  open  to  the  ground,  and 
the  wares  laid  on  benches  and  tables  in  the  open  air,  the  light 
in  all  cases  entering  at  the  front  only,  and  fading  away  in  a 
few  feet  from  the  threshold  into  a  gloom  which  the  eye  from 
without  cannot  penetrate,  but  which  is  generally  broken  by  a 
ray  or  two  from  a  feeble  lamp  at  the  back  of  the  shop,  sus- 
pended before  a  print  of  the  Virgin.  The  less  pious  shop- 
keeper sometimes  leaves  his  lamp  unlighted,  and  is  contented 
with  a  penny  print ;  the  more  religious  one  has  his  print 
colored  and  set  in  a  little  shrine  with  a  gilded  or  figured 
fringe,  with  perhaps  a  faded  flower  or  two  on  each  side,  and 
his  lamp  burning  brilliantly.  Here  at  the  fruiterer's,  where 
the  dark-green  water-melons  are  heaped  upon  the  counter 
like  cannon  balls,  the  Madonna  has  a  tabernacle  of  fresh  laurel 
leaves  ;  but  the  pewterer  next  door  has  let  his  lamp  out,  and 
there  is  nothing  to  be  seen  in  his  shop  but  the  dull  gleam  of 
the  studded  patterns  on  the  copper  pans,  hanging  from  his 
roof  in  the  darkness.  Next  comes  a  "Venclita  Frittole  e 
Liquori,"  where  the  Virgin,  enthroned  in  a  very  humble  man- 
ner beside  a  tallow  candle  on  a  back  shelf,  presides  over  cer^ 
tain  ambrosial  morsels  of  a  nature  too  ambiguous  to  be  defined 
or  enumerated.  But  a  few  steps  farther  on,  at  the  regular 
wine-shop  of  the  calle,  where  we  are  offered  "  Vino  Nostrani 
a  Soldi  28*32,"  the  Madonna  is  in  great  glory,  enthroned  above 
ten  or  a  dozen  large  red  casks  of  three-year-old  vintage,  and 
flanked  by  goodly  ranks  of  bottles  of  Maraschino,  and  two 
crimson  lamps  ;  and  for  the  evening,  when  the  gondoliers  will 
come  to  drink  out,  under  her  auspices,  the  money  they  have 
gained  during  the  day,  she  will  have  a  whole  chandelier. 

§  xiii.  A  yard  or  two  farther,  we  pass  the  hostelry  of  the 
Black  Eagle,  and,  glancing  as  we  pass  through  the  square  door 
of  marble,  deeply  moulded,  in  the  outer  wall,  we  see  the  shad- 


70 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


ows  of  its  pergola  of  vines  resting  on  an  ancient  well,  with  a 
pointed  shield  carved  on  its  side  ;  and  so  presently  emerge  on 
the  bridge  and  Campo  San  Moise,  whence  to  the  entrance  into 
St.  Mark's  Place,  called  the  Bocca  di  Piazza  (mouth  of  the 
square),  the  Venetian  character  is  nearly  destroyed,  first  by  the 
frightful  facade  of  San  Moise,  which  we  will  pause  at  another 
time  to  examine,  and  then  by  the  modernizing  of  the  shops  as 
they  near  the  piazza,  and  the  mingling  with  the  lower  Vene- 
tian populace  of  lounging  groups  of  English  and  Austrians. 
We  will  push  fast  through  them  into  the  shadow  of  the  pillars 
at  the  end  of  the  "  Bocca  di  Piazza,"  and  then  we  forget  them 
all ;  for  between  those  pillars  there  opens  a  great  light,  and,  in 
the  midst  of  it,  as  we  advance  slowly,  the  vast  tower  of  St. 
Mark  seems  to  lift  itself  visibly  forth  from  the  level  field  of 
chequered  stones  ;  and,  on  each  side,  the  countless  arches  pro- 
long themselves  into  ranged  symmetry,  as  if  the  rugged  and 
irregular  houses  that  pressed  together  above  us  in  the  dark 
alley  had  been  struck  back  into  sudden  obedience  and  lovely 
order,  and  all  their  rude  casements  and  broken  walls  had  been 
transformed  into  arches  charged  with  goodly  sculpture,  and 
fluted  shafts  of  delicate  stone. 

§  xiv.  And  well  may  they  fall  back,  for  beyond  those  troops 
of  ordered  arches  there  rises  a  vision  out  of  the  earth,  and 
all  the  great  square  seems  to  have  opened  from  it  in  a  kind 
of  awe,  that  we  may  see  it  far  away  ; — a  multitude  of  pillars 
and  white  domes,  clustered  into  a  long  low  pyramid  of  col- 
ored light ;  a  treasure-heap,  it  seems,  partly  of  gold,  and 
partly  of  opal  and  mother-of-pearl,  hollowed  beneath  into 
five  great  vaulted  porches,  ceiled  with  fair  mosaic,  and  beset 
with  sculpture  of  alabaster,  clear  as  amber  and  delicate  as 
ivory, — sculpture  fantastic  and  involved,  of  palm  leaves  and 
lilies,  and  grapes  and  pomegranates,  and  birds  clinging  and 
fluttering  among  the  branches,  all  twined  together  into  an 
endless  network  of  buds  and  plumes  ;  and,  in  the  midst  of  it, 
the  solemn  forms  of  angels,  sceptred,  and  robed  to  the  feet, 
and  leaning  to  each  other  across  the  gates,  their  figures  in< 
distinct  among  the  gleaming  of  the  golden  ground  through 
the  leaves  beside  them,  interrupted  and  dim,  like  the  morn- 


ST.  MARK'S. 


71 


ing  light  as  it  faded  back  among  the  branches  of  Eden,  when 
first  its  gates  were  angel-guarded  long  ago.  And  round  the 
walls  of  the  porches  there  are  set  pillars  of  variegated  stones, 
jasper  and  porphyry,  and  deep-green  serpentine  spotted  with 
flakes  of  snow,  and  marbles,  that  half  refuse  and  half  yield 
to  the  sunshine,  Cleopatra-like,  "their  bluest  veins  to  kiss" — 
the  shadow,  as  it  steals  back  from  them,  revealing  line  after 
line  of  azure  undulation,  as  a  receding  tide  leaves  the  waved 
sand  ;  their  capitals  rich  with  interwoven  tracery,  rooted 
knots  of  herbage,  and  drifting  leaves  of  acanthus  and  vine, 
and  mystical  signs,  all  beginning  and  ending  in  the  Cross  ; 
and  above  them,  iu  the  broad  archivolts,  a  continuous  chain 
of  language  and  of  life — angels,  and  the  signs  of  heaven,  and 
the  labors  of  men,  each  in  its  appointed  season  upon  the 
earth  ;  and  above  these,  another  range  of  glittering  pinnacles, 
mixed»with  white  arches  edged  with  scarlet  flowers, — a  con- 
fusion of  delight,  amidst  which  the  breasts  of  the  Greek 
horses  are  seen  blazing  in  their  breadth  of  golden  strength, 
and  the  St.  Mark's  Lion,  lifted  on  a  blue  field  covered  with 
stars,  until  at  last,  as  if  in  ecstasy,  the  crests  of  the  arches 
break  into  a  marble  foam,  and  toss  themselves  far  into  the 
blue  sky  in  flashes  and  wreaths  of  sculptured  spray,  as  if  the 
breakers  on  the  Lido  shore  had  been  frost-bound  before  they 
fell,  and  the  sea-nymphs  had  inlaid  them  with  coral  and  ame- 
thyst. 

Between  that  grim  cathedral  of  England  and  this,  what  an 
interval !  There  is  a  type  of  it  in  the  very  birds  that  haunt 
them  ;  for,  instead  of  the  restless  crowd,  hoarse-voiced  and 
sable-winged,  drifting  on  the  bleak  upper  air,  the  St.  Mark's 
porches  are  full  of  doves,  that  nestle  among  the  marble  foli- 
age, and  mingle  the  soft  iridescence  of  their  living  plumes, 
changing  at  every  motion,  with  the  tints,  hardly  less  lovely, 
that  have  stood  unchanged  for  seven  hundred  years. 

§  xv.  And  what  effect  has  this  splendor  on  those  who  pass 
beneath  it  ?  You  may  walk  from  sunrise  to  sunset,  to  and 
fro,  before  the  gateway  of  St.  Mark's,  and  you  will  not  see  an 
eye  lifted  to  it,  nor  a  countenance  brightened  by  it.  Priest 
and  layman,  soldier  and  civilian,  rich  and  poor,  pass  by  it 


72 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


alike  regardlessly.  Up  to  the  very  recesses  of  the  porcheSj 
the  meanest  tradesmen  of  the  city  push  their  counters ;  nay, 
the  foundations  of  its  pillars  are  themselves  the  seats — not 

of  them  that  sell  doves  "  for  sacrifice,  but  of  the  vendors  of 
toys  and  caricatures.  Bound  the  whole  square  in  front  of 
the  church  there  is  almost  a  continuous  line  of  cafes,  where 
the  idle  Venetians  of  the  middle  classes  lounge,  and  read 
empty  journals  ;  in  its  centre  the  Austrian  bands  play  during 
the  time  of  vespers,  their  martial  music  jarring  with  the  organ 
notes, — the  march  drowning  the  miserere,  and  the  sullen 
crowd  thickening  round  them, — a  crowd,  which,  if  it  had  its 
will,  would  stiletto  eveiy  soldier  that  pipes  to  it.  And  in  the 
recesses  of  the  porches,  all  day  long,  knots  of  men  of  the 
lowest  classes,  unemployed  and  listless,  lie  basking  in  the 
sun  like  lizards;  and  unregarded  children, — every  heavy 
glance  of  their  young  eyes  full  of  desperation  and  stony  de- 
pravity, and  their  throats  hoarse  with  cursing, — gamble,  and 
fight,  and  snarl,  and  sleep,  hour  after  hour,  clashing  their 
bruised  centesimi  upon  the  marble  ledges  of  the  church 
porch.  And  the  images  of  Christ  and  His  angels  look  down 
upon  it  continually. 

That  we  may  not  enter  the  church  out  of  the  midst  of  the 
horror  of  this,  let  us  turn  aside  under  the  portico  which  looks 
towards  the  sea,  and  passing  round  within  the  two  massive 
pillars  brought  from  St.  Jean  d'Acre,  we  shall  find  the  gate  of 
?Ve  Baptistery  ;  let  us  enter  there.  The  heavy  door  closes 
uehin'i  us  instantly,  and  the  light,  and  the  turbulence  of  the 
.t^zzetta.  are  together  shut  out  by  it. 

g  xvi.  Wq  are  in  a  low  vaulted  room  ;  vaulted,  not  with 
arches,  but  with  small  cupolas  starred  with  gold,  and  cheq- 
uered with  gloomy  figures :  in  the  centre  is  a  bronze  font 
charged  with  rich  bas-reliefs,  a  small  figure  of  the  Baptist 
standing  above  it  in  a  single  ray  of  light  that  glances  across 
the  narrow  room,  dying  as  it  falls  from  a  window  high  in  the 
wall,  and  the  first  thing  that  it  strikes,  and  the  only  thing 
that  it  strikes  brightly,  is  a  tomb.  We  hardly  know  if  it  be  a 
tomb  indeed  ;  for  it  is  like  a  narrow  couch  set  beside  the  win- 
dow, low-roofed  and  curtained,  so  that  it  might  seem,  but  thai 


8T.  MARK'S. 


73 


it  has  some  height  above  the  pavement,  to  have  been  drawn 
towards  the  window,  that  the  sleeper  might  be  wakened  early  ; 
— only  there  are  two  angels  who  have  drawn  the  curtain  back, 
and  are  looking  down  upon  him.  Let  us  look  also,  and  thank 
that  gentle  light  that  rests  upon  his  forehead  for  ever,  and 
dies  away  upon  his  breast. 

The  face  is  of  a  man  in  middle  life,  but  there  are  two  deep 
furrows  right  across  the  forehead,  dividing  it  like  the  founda- 
tions of  a  tower  :  the  height  of  it  above  is  bound  by  the  fillet 
of  the  ducal  cap.  The  rest  of  the  features  are  singularly 
small  and  delicate,  the  lips  sharp,  perhaps  the  sharpness  of 
death  being  added  to  that  of  the  natural  lines  ;  but  there  is  a 
sweet  smile  upon  them,  and  a  deep  serenity  upon  the  whole 
countenance.  The  roof  of  the  canopy  above  has  been  blue, 
filled  with  stars  ;  beneath,  in  the  centre  of  the  tomb  on  which 
the  figure  rests,  is  a  seated  figure  of  the  Virgin,  and  the  bor- 
der of  it  all  around  is  of  flowers  and  soft  leaves,  growing  rich 
and  deep,  as  if  in  a  field  in  summer. 

It  is  the  Doge  Andrea  Dandolo,  a  man  early  great  among 
the  great  of  Venice  ;  and  early  lost.  She  chose  him  for  her 
king  in  his  36th  year ;  he  died  ten  years  later,  leaving  behind 
him  that  history  to  which  we  owe  half  of  what  we  know  of 
her  former  fortunes. 

§  xvii.  Look  round  at  the  room  in  which  he  lies.  The  floor 
of  it  is  of  rich  mosaic,  encompassed  by  a  low  seat  of  red  mar- 
ble, and  its  wTalls  are  of  alabaster,  but  worn  and  shattered, 
and  darkly  stained  with  age,  almost  a  ruin, — in  places  the 
slabs  of  marble  have  fallen  away  altogether,  and  the  rugged 
brick-work  is  seen  through  the  rents,  but  all  beautiful ;  the 
ravaging  fissures  fretting  their  way  among  the  islands  and 
channelled  zones  of  the  alabaster,  and  the  time-stains  on  its 
translucent  masses  darkened  into  fields  of  rich  golden  brown, 
like  the  color  of  seaweed  when  the  sun  strikes  on  it  through 
deep  sea.  The  light  fades  away  into  the  recess  of  the  cham- 
ber towards  the  altar,  and  the  eye  can  hardly  trace  the  lines 
of  the  bas-relief  behind  it  of  the  baptism  of  Christ :  but  on 
the  vaulting  of  the  roof  the  figures  are  distinct,  and  there  are 
seen  upon  it  two  great  circles,  one  surrounded  by  the  tr  Prin- 


7-1 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


eipalities  and  powers  in  heavenly  places,"  of  which  Milton  has 
expressed  the  ancient  division  in  the  single  massy  line, 

44  Thrones,  Dominations,  Princedoms,  Virtues,  Powers," 

and  around  the  other,  the  Apostles  ;  Christ  the  centre  of  both  ; 
and  upon  the  walls,  again  and  again  repeated,  the  gaunt  figure 
of  the  Baptist,  in  every  circumstance  of  his  life  and  death  ; 
and  the  streams  of  the  Jordan  running  down  between  their 
cloven  rocks  ;  the  axe  laid  to  the  root  of  a  fruitless  tree  that 
springs  upon  their  shore.  "  Every  tree  that  bringeth  not 
forth  good  fruit  shall  be  hewn  down,  and  cast  into  the  fire." 
Yes,  verily  :  to  be  baptized  with  fire,  or  to  be  cast  therein  ;  it  is 
the  choice  set  before  all  men.  The  march-notes  still  murmur 
through  the  grated  window,  and  mingle  with  the  sounding  in 
our  ears  of  the  sentence  of  judgment,  which  the  old  Greek  has 
written  on  that  Baptistery  wall.    Venice  has  made  her  choice. 

§  xvm.  He  who  lies  under  that  stony  canopy  would  have 
taught  her  another  choice,  in  his  day,  if  she  would  have 
listened  to  him  ;  but  he  and  his  counsels  have  long  been  for- 
gotten by  her,  and  the  dust  lies  upon  his  lips. 

Through  the  heavy  door  whose  bronze  network  closes  the 
place  of  his  rest,  let  us  enter  the  church  itself.  It  is  lost  in 
still  deeper  twilight,  to  which  the  eye  must  be  accustomed  for 
some  moments  before  the  form  of  the  building  can  be  traced  ; 
and  then  there  opens  before  us  a  vast  cave,  hewn  out  into  the 
form  of  a  Cross,  and  divided  into  shadowy  aisles  by  many 
pillars.  Round  the  domes  of  its  roof  the  light  enters  only 
through  narrow  apertures  like  large  stars ;  and  here  and  there 
a  ray  or  two  from  some  far  away  casement  wanders  into  the 
darkness,  and  casts  a  narrow  phosphoric  stream  upon  the 
waves  of  marble  that  heave  and  fall  in  a  thousand  colors  along 
the  floor.  What  else  there  is  of  light  is  from  torches,  or  silver 
lamps,  burning  ceaselessly  in  the  recesses  of  the  chapels  ;  the 
roof  sheeted  with  gold,  and  the  polished  walls  covered  with 
alabaster,  give  back  at  every  curve  and  angle  some  feeble 
gleaming  to  the  flames  ;  and  the  glories  round  the  heads  of 
the  sculptured  saints  flash  out  upon  us  as  we  pass  them,  and 
sink  again  into  the  gloom.    Under  foot  and  over  head,  a  con- 


ST.  MARK'S. 


75 


tinual  succession  of  crowded  imagery,  one  picture  passing 
into  another,  as  in  a  dream  ;  forms  beautiful  and  terrible 
mixed  together ;  dragons  and  serpents,  and  ravening  beasts 
of  prey,  and  graceful  birds  that  in  the  midst  of  them  drink 
from  running  fountains  and  feed  from  vases  of  crystal  ;  the 
passions  and  the  pleasures  of  human  life  symbolized  together, 
and  the  mystery  of  its  redemption  ;  for  the  mazes  of  interwo- 
ven lines  and  changeful  pictures  lead  always  at  last  to  the 
Cross,  lifted  and  carved  in  every  place  and  upon  every  stone  ; 
sometimes  with  the  serpent  of  eternity  wrapt  round  it,  some- 
times with  doves  beneath  its  arms,  and  sweet  herbage  growing 
forth  from  its  feet  ;  but  conspicuous  most  of  all  on  the  great 
rood  that  crosses  the  church  before  the  altar,  raised  in  bright 
blazonry  against  the  shadow  of  the  apse.  And  although  in 
the  recesses  of  the  aisle  and  chapels,  when  the  mist  of  the  in- 
cense hangs  heavily,  we  may  see  continually  a  figure  traced  in 
faint  lines  upon  their  marble,  a  woman  standing  with  her  eyes 
raised  to  heaven,  and  the  inscription  above  her,  "  Mother  of 
God,"  she  is  not  here  the  presiding  deity.  It  is  the  Cross 
that  is  first  seen,  and  always,  burning  in  the  centre  of  the 
temple  ;  and  every  dome  and  hollow  of  its  roof  has  the  figure 
of  Christ  in  the  utmost  height  of  it,  raised  in  power,  or  re- 
turning in  judgment. 

§  xix.  Nor  is  this  interior  without  effect  on  the  minds  of 
the  people.  At  every  hour  of  the  day  there  are  groups 
collected  before  the  various  shrines,  and  solitary  worshippers 
scattered  through  the  darker  places  of  the  church,  evidently 
in  prayer  both  deep  and  reverent,  and,  for  the  most  part, 
profoundly  sorrowful.  The  devotees  at  the  greater  number 
of  the  renowned  shrines  of  Eomanism  may  be  seen  murmur- 
ing their  appointed  prayers  with  wandering  eyes  and  unen- 
gaged gestures  ;  but  the  step  of  the  stranger  does  not  disturb 
those  who  kneel  on  the  pavement  of  St.  Mark's  ;  and  hardly 
a  moment  passes,  from  early  morning  to  sunset,  in  which  we 
may  not  see  some  half -veiled  figure  enter  beneath  the  -Arabian 
porch,  cast  itself  into  long  abasement  on  the  floor  of  the 
temple,  and  then  rising  slowly  with  more  confirmed  step, 
and  with  a  passionate  kiss  and  clasp  of  the  arms  given  to  the 


76 


TIIE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


feet  of  the  crucifix,  by  which  the  lamps  burn  always  in  the 
northern  aisle,  leave  the  church,  as  if  comforted. 

§  xx.  But  we  must  not  hastily  conclude  from  this  that  tho 
nobler  characters  of  the  building  have  at  present  any  influence 
in  fostering  a  devotional  spirit.  There  is  distress  enough  in 
Venice  to  bring  many  to  their  knees,  without  excitement 
from  external  imagery ;  and  whatever  there  may  be  in  the 
temper  of  the  worship  offered  in  St.  Mark's  more  than  can  be 
accounted  for  by  reference  to  the  unhappy  circumstances  of 
the  city,  is  assuredly  not  owing  either  to  the  beauty  of  its 
architecture  or  to  the  impressiveness  of  the  Scripture  histories 
embodied  in  its  mosaics.  That  it  has  a  peculiar  effect,  how- 
ever slight,  on  the  popular  mind,  may  perhaps  be  safely  con- 
jectured from  the  number  of  worshippers  which  it  attracts, 
while  the  churches  of  St.  Paul  and  the  Frari,  larger  in  size  and 
more  central  in  position,  are  left  comparatively  empty.*  But 
this  effect  is  altogether  to  be  ascribed  to  its  richer  assemblage 
of  those  sources  of  influence  which  address  themselves  to  the 
commonest  instincts  of  the  human  mind,  and  which,  in  all 
ages  and  countries,  have  been  more  or  less  employed  in  the 
support  of  superstition.  Darkness  and  mystery ;  confused 
recesses  of  building  ;  artificial  light  employed  in  small  quan- 
tity, but  maintained  with  a  constancy  which  seems  to  give  it 
a  kind  of  sacredness  ;  preciousness  of  material  easily  compre- 
hended by  the  vulgar  eye  ;  close  air  loaded  with  a  sweet  and 
peculiar  odor  associated  only  with  religious  services,  solemn 
music,  and  tangible  idols  or  images  having  popular  legends 
attached  to  them, — these,  the  stage  properties  of  superstition, 
which  have  been  from  the  beginning  of  the  world,  and  must 
be  to  the  end  of  it,  employed  by  all  nations,  whether  openly 
savage  or  nominally  civilized,  to  produce  a  false  awe  in  minds 
incapable  of  apprehending  the  true  nature  of  the  Deity,  are 
assembled  in  St.  Mark's  to  a  degree,  as  far  as  I  know,  unex- 
ampled in  any  other  European  church.    The  arts  of  the  Magus 

*  The  mere  warmtli  of  St.  Mark's  in  winter,  which  is  much,  greater 
than  that  of  the  other  two  churches  above  named,  mast,  however,  he 
taken  into  consideration,  as  one  of  the  most  efficient  causes  of  its  being 
then  more  frequented. 


ST.  MARK'S. 


77 


and  the  Brahmin  are  exhausted  in  the  animation  of  a  paralyzed 
Christianity  ;  and  the  popular  sentiment  which  these  arts  ex- 
cite is  to  be  regarded  by  us  with  no  more  respect  than  we 
should  have  considered  ourselves  justified  in  rendering  to  the 
devotion  of  the  worshippers  at  Eleusis,  Ellora,  or  Edfou.* 

§  xxi.  Indeed,  these  inferior  means  of  exciting  religious 
emotion  were  employed  in  the  ancient  Church  as  they  are  at 
this  day,  but  not  employed  alone.  Torchlight  there  was,  as 
there  is  now  ;  but  the  torchlight  illumined  Scripture  histories 
on  the  walls,  which  every  eye  traced  and  every  heart  com- 
prehended, but  which,  during  my  whole  residence  in  Venice, 
I  never  saw  one  Venetian  regard  for  an  instant.  I  never  heard 
from  any  one  the  most  languid  expression  of  interest  in  any 
feature  of  the  church,  or  perceived  the  slightest  evidence  of 
their  understanding  the  meaning  of  its  architecture  ;  and  while, 
therefore,  the  English  cathedral,  though  no  longer  dedicated 
to  the  kind  of  services  for  which  it  was  intended  by  its  build- 
ers, and  much  at  variance  in  many  of  its  characters  with  the 
temper  ofd  the  people  by  whom  it  is  now  surrounded,  retains 
yet  so  much  of  its  religious  influence  that  no  prominent  feat- 
ure of  its  architecture  can  be  said  to  exist  altogether  in  vain, 
we  have  in  St.  Mark's  a  building  apparently  still  employed  in 
the  ceremonies  for  which  it  wras  designed,  and  yet  of  which 
the  impressive  attributes  have  altogether  ceased  to  be  compre- 
hended by  its  votaries.  The  beauty  which  it  possesses  is  un- 
felt,  the  language  it  uses  is  forgotten  ;  and  in  the  midst  of  the 
city  to  whose  service  it  has  so  long  been  consecrated,  and  still 
filled  by  crowds  of  the  descendants  of  those  to  whom  it  owes 
its  magnificence,  it  stands,  in  reality,  more  desolate  than  the 

*  I  said  above  that  the  larger  number  of  the  devotees  entered  by  the 
* 4  Arabian"  porch;  the  porch,  that  is  to  say,  on  the  north  side  of  the 
church,  remarkable  for  its  rich  Arabian  archivolt,  and  through  which 
access  is  gained  immediately  to  the  northern  transept.  The  reason  is, 
that  in  that  transept  is  the  chapel  of  the  Madonna,  which  has  a  greater 
attraction  for  the  Venetians  than  all  the  rest  of  the  church  besides.  The 
old  builders  kept  their  images  of  the  Virgin  subordinate  to  those  of 
Christ ;  but  modern  Romanism  has  retrograded  from  theirs,  and  the 
most  glittering  portions  of  the  whdle  church  are  the  two  recesses  behind 
this  lateral  altar,  covered  with  silver  hearts  dedicated  to  the  Virgin. 


78 


THE  STOXES  OF  VENICE. 


ruins  through  which  the  sheep-walk  passes  unbroken  in  ouf 
English  valleys  ;  and  the  writing  on  its  marble  walls  is  less 
regarded  and  less  powerful  for  the  teaching  of  men,  than  the 
letters  which  the  shepherd  follows  with  his  finger,  where  the 
moss  is  lightest  on  the  tombs  in  the  desecrated  cloister. 

§  xxii.  It  must  therefore  be  altogether  without  reference  to 
its  present  usefulness,  that  we  pursue  our  inquiry  into  the 
merits  and  meaning  of  the  architecture  of  this  marvellous 
building  ;  and  it  can  only  be  after  we  have  terminated  that 
inquiry,  conducting  it  carefully  on  abstract  grounds,  that  we 
can  pronounce  with  any  certainty  how  far  the  present  neglect 
of  St.  Mark's  is  significative  of  the  decline  of  the  Venetian  char- 
acter, or  how  far  this  church  is  to  be  considered  as  the  relic 
of  a  barbarous  age,  incapable  of  attracting  the  admiration,  or 
influencing  the  feelings  of  a  civilized  community. 

The  inquiry  before  us  is  twofold.  Throughout  the  first 
volume,  I  carefully  kept  the  study  of  expression  distinct  from 
that  of  abstract  architectural  perfection  ;  telling  the  reader 
that  in  every  building  we  should  afterwards  examine,  he  would 
have  first  to  form  a  judgment  of  its  construction  and  decora- 
tive merit,  considering  it  merely  as  a  work  of  art  ;  and  then  to 
examine  farther,  in  what  degree  it  fulfilled  its  expressional 
purposes.  Accordingly,  we  have  first  to  judge  of  St.  Mark's 
merely  as  a  piece  of  architecture,  not  as  a  church  ;  secondly, 
to  estimate  its  fitness  for  its  special  duty  as  a  place  of  wor- 
ship, and  the  relation  in  which  it  stands,  as  such,  to  those 
northern  cathedrals  that  still  retain  so  much  of  the  power  over 
the  human  heart,  which  the  Byzantine  domes  appear  to  have 
lost  for  ever. 

§  xxni.  In  the  two  succeeding  sections  of  this  work,  devoted 
respectively  to  the  examination  of  the  Gothic  and  Renais- 
sance buildings  in  Venice,  I  have  endeavored  to  analyze  and 
state,  as  briefly  as  possible,  the  true  nature  of  each  school, — 
first  in  Spirit,  then  in  Form.  I  wished  to  have  given  a  similar 
analysis,  in  this  section,  of  the  nature  of  Byzantine  architect- 
ure ;  but  could  not  make  my  statements  general,  because  J 
have  never  seen  this  kind  of  building  on  its  native  soil.  Nev- 
ertheless, in  the  following  sketch  of  the  principles  exemplified 


ST.  MARK'S. 


79 


in  St.  Mark's,  I  believe  that  most  of  the  leading  features  and 
motives  of  the  style  will  be  found  clearly  enough  distinguished 
to  enable  the  reader  to  judge  of  it  with  tolerable  fairness,  aa 
compared  with  the  better  known  systems  of  European  archi- 
tecture in  the  middle  ages. 

§  xxiv.  Now  the  first  broad  characteristic  of  the  building, 
and  the  root  nearly  of  every  other  important  peculiarity  in  it, 
is  its  confessed  incrustation.  It  is  the  purest  example  in  Italy 
of  the  great  school  of  architecture  in  which  the  ruling  princi- 
ple is  the  incrustation  of  brick  with  more  precious  materials  ; 
and  it  is  necessar}'  before  we  proceed  to  criticise  any  one  of 
its  arrangements,  that  the  reader  should  carefully  consider  the 
principles  which  are  likely  to  have  influenced,  or  might  legiti- 
mately influence,  the  architects  of  such  a  school,  as  distin- 
guished from  those  whose  designs  are  to  be  executed  in  mas- 
sive materials. 

It  is  true,  that  among  different  nations,  and  at  different 
times,  we  may  find  examples  of  every  sort  and  degree  of  in- 
crustation, from  the  mere  setting  of  the  larger  and  more  com- 
pact stones  by  preference  at  the  outside  of  the  wall,  to  the 
miserable  construction  of  that  modern  brick  cornice,  with  its 
coating  of  cement,  which,  but  the  other  day,  in  London,  killed 
its  unhappy  workmen  in  its  fall.*  But  just  as  it  is  perfectly 
possible  to  have  a  clear  idea  of  the  opposing  characteristics  of 
two  different  species  of  plants  or  animals,  though  between  the 
two  there  are  varieties  which  it  is  difficult  to  assign  either  to 
the  one  or  the  other,  so  the  reader  may  fix  decisively  in  his 
mind  the  legitimate  characteristics  of  the  incrusted  and  the 
massive  styles,  though  between  the  two  there  are  varieties 
which  confessedly  unite  the  attributes  of  both.  For  instance, 
in  many  Roman  remains,  built  of  blocks  of  tufa  and  incrusted 
with  marble,  we  have  a  style,  which,  though  truly  solid,  pos- 
sesses some  of  the  attributes  of  incrustation  ;  and  in  the  Ca- 
thedral of  Florence,  built  of  brick  and  coated  with  marble,  the 
marble  facing  is  so  firmly  and  exquisitely  set,  that  the  build- 
ing, though  in  reality  incrusted,  assumes  the  attributes  of 
solidity.  But  these  intermediate  examples  need  not  in  the 
*  Vide  "  Builder,"  for  October,  1851. 


80 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


least  confuse  our  generally  distinct  ideas  of  the  two  families  of 
buildings  :  the  one  in  which  the  substance  is  alike  throughout* 
and  the  forms  and  conditions  of  the  ornament  assume  or  prove 
that  it  is  so,  as  in  the  best  Greek  buildings,  and  for  the  most 
part  in  our  early  Norman  and  Gothic  ;  and  the  other,  in  which 
the  substance  is  of  two  kinds,  one  internal,  the  other  external, 
and  the  system  of  decoration  is  founded  on  this  duplicity,  as 
pre-eminently  in  St.  Mark's. 

§  xxv.  I  have  used  the  word  duplicity  in  no  depreciatory 
sense.  In  chapter  ii.  of  the  "  Seven  Lamps,"  §  18, 1  especially 
guarded  this  incrusted  school  from  the  imputation  of  insin- 
cerity, and  I  must  do  so  now  at  greater  length.  It  appears 
insincere  at  first  to  a  Northern  builder,  because,  accustomed 
to  build  with  solid  blocks  of  freestone,  he  is  in  the  habit  of 
supposing  the  external  superficies  of  a  piece  of  masonry  to 
be  some  criterion  of  its  thickness.  But,  as  soon  as  he  gets 
acquainted  with  the  incrusted  style,  he  will  find  that  the 
Southern  builders  had  no  intention  to  deceive  him.  He  will 
see  that  every  slab  of  facial  marble  is  fastened  to  the  next  by 
a  confessed  rivet,  and  that  the  joints  of  the  armor  are  so 
visibly  and  openly  accommodated  to  the  contours  of  the  sub- 
stance within,  that  he  has  no  more  right  to  complain  of 
treachery  than  a  savage  would  have,  who,  for  the  first  time  in 
his  life  seeing  a  man  in  armor,  had  supposed  him  to  be 
made  of  solid  steel.  Acquaint  him  with  the  customs  of 
chivalry,  and  with  the  uses  of  the  coat  of  mail,  and  he  ceases 
to  accuse  of  dishonesty  either  the  panoply  or  the  knight. 

These  laws  and  customs  of  the  St.  Mark's  architectural 
chivalry  it  must  be  our  business  to  develope. 

§  xxvi.  First,  consider  the  natural  circumstances  which 
give  rise  to  such  a  style.  Suppose  a  nation  of  builders, 
placed  far  from  any  quarries  of  available  stone,  and  having 
precarious  access  to  the  mainland  where  they  exist ;  compelled 
therefore  either  to  build  entirely  with  brick,  or  to  import 
whatever  stone  they  use  from  great  distances,  in  ships  of 
small  tonnage,  and  for  the  most  part  dependent  for  speed  on 
the  oar  rather  than  the  sail.  The  labor  and  cost  of  carriage 
are  just  as  great,  whether  they  import  common  or  precious 


S7\  MARX'S. 


81 


stone,  and  therefore  the  natural  tendency  would  always  be  to 
make  each  shipload  as  valuable  as  possible.  But  in  propor- 
tion to  the  preciousness  of  the  stone,  is  the  limitation  of  its 
possible  supply  ;  limitation  not  determined  merely  by  cost, 
but  by  the  physical  conditions  of  the  material,  for  of  many 
marbles,  pieces  above  a  certain  size  are  not  to  be  had  for 
money.  There  would  also  be  a  tendency  in  such  circum* 
stances  to  import  as  much  stone  as  possible  ready  sculptured, 
in  order  to  save  weight  ;  and  therefore,  if  the  traffic  of  their 
merchants  led  them  to  places  where  there  were  ruins  of  an- 
cient edifices,  to  ship  the  available  fragments  of  them  home. 
Out  of  this  supply  of  marble,  partly  composed  of  pieces  of  so 
precious  a  quality  that  only  a  few  tons  of  them  could  be  on 
any  terms  obtained,  and  partly  of  shafts,  capitals,  and  other 
portions  of  foreign  buildings,  the  island  architect  has  to 
fashion,  as  best  he  may,  the  anatomy  of  his  edifice.  It  is  at 
his  choice  either  to  lodge  his  few  blocks  of  precious  marble 
here  and  there  among  his  masses  of  brick,  and  to  cut  out  of 
the  sculptured  fragments  such  new  forms  as  maybe  necessary 
for  the  observance  of  fixed  proportions  in  the  new  building  ; 
or  else  to  cut  the  colored  stones  into  thin  pieces,  of  extent 
sufficient  to  face  the  whole  surface  of  the  walls,  and  to  adopt 
a  method  of  construction  irregular  enough  to  admit  the  in- 
sertion of  fragmentary  sculptures  ;  rather  with  a  view  of  dis- 
playing their  intrinsic  beauty,  than  of  setting  them  to  any 
regular  service  in  the  support  of  the  building. 

An  architect  who  cared  only  to  display  his  own  skill,  and 
had  no  respect  for  tho  works  of  others,  would  assuredly  have 
chosen  the  former  alternative,  and  would  have  sawn  the  old 
marbles  into  fragments  in  order  to  prevent  all  interference 
with  his  own  designs.  But  an  architect  who  cared  for  the 
preservation  of  noble  work,  whether  his  own  or  others',  and 
more  regarded  the  beauty  of  his  building  than  his  own 
fame,  would  have  done  what  those  old  builders  of  St.  Mark's 
did  for  us,  and  saved  every  relic  with  which  he  was  entrusted. 

§  xxvii.  But  these  wrere  not  the  only  motives  which  influ- 
enced the  Venetians  in  the  adoption  of  their  method  of  archi- 
tecture. It  might,  under  all  the  circumstances  above  stated, 
Vol.  II  —6 


82 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


have  been  a  question  with  other  builders,  whether  to  import 
one  shipload  of  costly  jaspers,  or  twenty  of  chalk  flints  ;  and 
whether  to  build  a  small  church  faced  with  porphyry  and 
paved  with  agate,  or  to  raise  a  vast  cathedral  in  freestone. 
But  with  the  Venetians  it  could  not  be  a  question  for  an  in- 
stant ;  they  were  exiles  from  ancient  and  beautiful  cities,  and 
had  been  accustomed  to  build  with  their  ruins,  not  less  in 
affection  than  in  admiration  :  they  had  thus  not  only  grown 
familiar  with  the  practice  of  inserting  older  fragments  in 
modern  buildings,  but  they  owed  to  that  practice  a  great  part 
of  the  splendor  of  their  city,  and  whatever  charm  of  associa- 
tion might  aid  its  change  from  a  Kefuge  into  a  Home.  The 
practice  which  began  in  the  affections  of  a  fugitive  nation, 
wras  prolonged  in  the  pride  of  a  conquering  one  ;  and  beside 
the  memorials  of  departed  happiness,  were  elevated  the 
trophies  of  returning  victory.  The  ship  of  war  brought  home 
more  marble  in  triumph  than  the  merchant  vessel  in  specula- 
tion ;  and  the  front  of  St.  Mark's  became  rather  a  shrine  at 
which  to  dedicate  the  splendor  of  miscellaneous  spoil,  than 
the  organized  expression  of  any  fixed  architectural  law,  or  re- 
ligious emotion. 

§  xxviu.  Thus  far,  however,  the  justification  of  the  style  of 
this  church  depends  on  circumstances  peculiar  to  the  time  of 
its  erection,  and  to  the  spot  where  it  arose.  The  merit  of 
its  method,  considered  in  the  abstract,  rests  on  fa,r  broader 
grounds. 

In  the  fifth  chapter  of  the  "  Seven  Lamps,"  §  14,  the  reader 
will  find  the  opinion  of  a  modern  architect  of  some  reputation, 
Mr.  "Wood,  that  the  chief  thing  remarkable  in  this  church  "is 
its  extreme  ugliness  ; ,?  and  he  will  find  this  opinion  associated 
with  another,  namely,  that  the  works  of  the  Caracci  are  far 
preferable  to  those  of  the  Venetian  painters.  This  second 
statement  of  feeling  reveals  to  us  one  of  the  principal  causes 
of  the  first  ;  namely,  that  Mr.  Wood  had  not  any  perception 
of  color,  or  delight  in  it.  The  perception  of  color  is  a  gift  just 
as  definitely  granted  to  one  person,  and  denied  to  another,  as 
an  ear  for  music  ;  and  the  very  first  requisite  for  true  judg- 
ment of  St.  Mark's,  is  the  perfection  of  that  color-faculty  which 


ST.  MARK'S. 


83 


few  people  ever  set  themselves  seriously  to  find  out  whether 
they  possess  or  not.  For  it  is  on  its  value  as  a  piece  of  perfect 
and  unchangeable  coloring,  that  the  claims  of  this  edifice  to 
our  respect  are  finally  rested  ;  and  a  deaf  man  might  as  well 
pretend  to  pronounce  judgment  on  the  merits  of  a  full  orches- 
tra, as  an  architect  trained  in  the  composition  of  form  only, 
to  discern  the  beauty  of  St.  Mark's.  It  possesses  the  charm 
of  color  in  common  with  the  greater  part  of  the  architecture, 
as  well  as  of  the  manufactures,  of  the  East  ;  but  the  Venetians 
deserve  especial  note  as  the  only  European  people  who  ap- 
pear to  have  sympathized  to  the  full  with  the  great  instinct 
of  the  Eastern  races.  They  indeed  were  compelled  to  bring 
artists  from  Constantinople  to  design  the  mosaics  of  the  vaults 
of  St.  Mark's,  and  to  group  the  colors  of  its  porches  ;  but  they 
rapidly  took  up  and  developed,  under  more  masculine  condi- 
tions, the  system  of  which  the  Greeks  had  shown  them  the 
example  :  while  the  burghers  and  barons  of  the  North  were 
building  their  dark  streets  and  grisly  castles  of  oak  and  sand- 
stone, the  merchants  of  Venice  were  covering  their  palaces 
with  porphyry  and  gold  ;  and  at  last,  when  her  mighty  paint- 
ers had  created  for  her  a  color  more  priceless  than  gold  or 
porphyry,  even  this,  the  richest  of  her  treasures,  she  lavished 
upon  walls  whose  foundations  were  beaten  by  the  sea  ;  and 
the  strong  tide,  as  it  runs  beneath  the  Kialto,  is  reddened  to 
this  day  by  the  reflection  of  the  frescoes  of  Giorgione. 

§  xxix.  If,  therefore,  the  reader  does  not  care  for  color,  I 
must  protest  against  his  endeavor  to  form  any  judgment  what- 
ever of  this  church  of  St.  Mark's.  But,  if  he  both  cares  for 
and  loves  it,  let  him  remember  that  the  school  of  incrusted 
architecture  is  the  only  one  in  which  perfect  and  permanent 
chromatic  decoration  is  jiossible  ;  and  let  him  look  upon  every 
piece  of  jasper  and  alabaster  given  to  the  architect  as  a  cake 
of  very  hard  color,  of  which  a  certain  portion  is  to  be  ground 
down  or  cut  off,  to  paint  the  walls  with.  Once  understand 
this  thoroughly,  and  accept  the  condition  that  the  body  and 
availing  strength  of  the  edifice  are  to  be  in  brick,  and  that 
this  under  muscular  power  of  brickwork  is  to  be  clothed  with 
the  defence  and  the  brightness  of  the  marble,  as  the  body  of 


84 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


of  an  animal  is  protected  and  adorned  by  its  scales  or  its  skin, 
and  all  the  consequent  fitnesses  and  laws  of  the  structure  will 
be  easily  discernible  :  These  I  shall  state  in  their  natural  order. 

§  xxx.  Law  I.  That  the  i^linlhs  and  cornices  used  for  binding 
the  armor  are  to  be  light  and  delicate.  A  certain  thickness,  at 
least  two  or  three  inches,  must  be  required  in  the  covering 
pieces  (even  when  composed  of  the  strongest  stone,  and  set 
on  the  least  exposed  parts),  in  order  to  prevent  the  chance  of 
fracture,  and  to  allow  for  the  wear  of  time.  And  the  weight 
of  this  armor  must  not  be  trusted  to  cement ;  the  pieces  must 
not  be  merely  glued  to  the  rough  brick  surface,  but  connected 
with  the  mass  which  they  protect  by  binding  cornices  and 
string  courses  ;  and  with  each  other,  so  as  to  secure  mutual 
support,  aided  by  the  rivetings,  but  by  no  means  dependent 
upon  them.  And,  for  the  full  honesty  and  straightforward- 
ness of  the  work,  it  is  necessary  that  these  string  courses  and 
binding  plinths  should  not  be  of  such  proportions  as  would 
fit  them  for  taking  any  important  part  in  the  hard  work  of  the 
inner  structure,  or  render  them  liable  to  be  mistaken  for  the 
great  cornices  and  plinths  already  explained  as  essential  parts 
of  the  best  solid  building.  They  must  be  delicate,  slight,  and 
visibly  incapable  of  severer  work  than  that  assigned  to  them. 

§  xxxi.  Lav/  II.  Science  of  inner  structure  is  to  be  abandoned. 
As  the  body  of  the  structure  is  confessedly  of  inferior,  and 
comparatively  incoherent  materials,  it  would  be  absurd  to  at- 
tempt in  it  any  expression  of  the  higher  refinements  of  con- 
struction. It  wTill  be  enough  that  by  its  mass  we  are  assured 
of  its  sufficiency  and  strength  ;  and  there  is  the  less  reason  for 
endeavoring  to  diminish  the  extent  of  its  surface  by  delicacy  of 
adjustment,  because  on  the  breadth  of  that  surface  we  are  to 
depend  for  the  better  display  of  the  color,  which  is  to  be  the 
chief  source  of  our  pleasure  in  the  building.  The  main  body 
of  the  work,  therefore,  will  be  composed  of  solid  walls  and 
massive  piers  ;  and  whatever  expression  of  finer  structural 
science  we  may  require,  will  be  thrown  either  into  subordinate 
portions  of  it,  or  entirely  directed  to  the  support  of  the  exter* 
nal  mail,  where  in  arches  or  vaults  it  might  otherwise  appear 
dangerously  independent  of  the  material  within. 


ST.  MARK'S. 


85 


§  xxxii.  Law  HE.  All  shafts  are  to  be  solid.  Wherever,  by 
the  smallness  of  the  parts,  we  may  be  driven  to  abandon  the  in- 
crusted  structure  at  all,  it  must  be  abandoned  altogether.  The 
eye  must  never  be  left  in  the  least  doubt  as  to  what  is  solid 
and  what  is  coated.  Whatever  appears  probably  solid,  must  be 
assuredly  so,  and  therefore  it  becomes  an  inviolable  law  that  no 
shaft  shall  ever  be  incrusted.  Not  only  does  the  whole  virtue 
of  a  shaft  depend  on  its  consolidation,  but  the  labor  of  cut- 
ting and  adjusting  an  incrusted  coat  to  it  would  be  greater  than 
the  saving  of  material  is  worth.  Therefore  the  shaft,  of  what- 
ever size,  is  always  to  be  solid  ;  and  because  the  incrusted  char- 
acter of  the  rest  of  the  building  renders  it  more  difficult  for 
the  shafts  to  clear  themselves  from  suspicion,  they  must  not, 
in  this  incrusted  style,  be  in  any  place  jointed.  No  shaft  must 
ever  be  used  but  of  one  block  ;  and  this  the  more,  because  the 
permission  given  to  the  builder  to  have  his  walls  and  piers  as 
ponderous  as  he  likes,  renders  it  quite  unnecessary  for  him  to 
use  shafts  of  any  fixed  size.  In  our  Norman  and  Gothic, 
where  definite  support  is  required  at  a  definite  point,  it  be- 
comes lawful  to  build  up  a  tower  of  small  stones  in  the  shape 
of  a  shaft.  But  the  Byzantine  is  allowed  to  have  as  much  sup- 
port as  he  wants  from  the  walls  in  every  direction,  and  he  has 
no  right  to  ask  for  further  license  in  the  structure  of  his  shafts. 
Let  him,  by  generosity  in  the  substance  of  his  pillars,  repay  us 
for  the  permission  we  have  given  him  to  be  superficial  in  his 
walls.  The  builder  in  the  chalk  valleys  of  France  and  Eng- 
land may  be  blameless  in  kneading  his  clumsy  pier  out  of 
broken  flint  and  calcined  lime  ;  but  the  Venetian,  who  has 
access  to  the  riches  of  Asia  and  the  quarries  of  Egypt,  must 
frame  at  least  his  shafts  out  of  flawless  stone. 

§  xxxiii.  And  this  for  another  reason  yet.  Although,  as 
we  have  said,  it  is  impossible  to  cover  the  walls  of  a  large 
building  with  color,  except  on  the  condition  of  dividing  the 
stone  in  to  plates,  there  is  always  a  certain  appearance  of  mean- 
ness and  niggardliness  in  the  procedure.  It  is  necessary  that 
the  builder  should  justify  himself  from  this  suspicion  ;  and 
prove  that  it  is  not  in  mere  economy  or  poverty,  but  in  the 
real  impossibility  of  doing  otherwise,  that  he  has  sheeted  his 


86 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


walls  so  tbinly  with  the  precious  film.  Now  the  shaft  is  ex. 
actly  the  portion  of  the  edifice  in  which  it  is  fittest  to  recover 
his  honor  in  this  respect.  For  if  blocks  of  jasper  or  porphyry 
be  inserted  in  the  walls,  the  spectator  cannot  tell  their  thick- 
ness, and  cannot  judge  of  the  costliness  of  the  sacrifice.  But 
the  shaft  he  can  measure  with  his  eye  in  an  instant,  and  esti- 
mate the  quantity  of  treasure  both  in  the  mass  of  its  existing 
substance,  and  in  that  which  has  been  hewn  away  to  bring  it 
into  its  perfect  and  symmetrical  form.  And  thus  the  shafts 
of  all  buildings  of  this  kind  are  justly  regarded  as  an  expres- 
sion of  their  wealth,  and  a  form  of  treasure,  just  as  much  as 
the  jewels  or  gold  in  the  sacred  vessels  ;  they  are,  in  fact, 
nothing  else  than  large  jewels,*  the  block  of  precious  serpen- 
tine or  jasper  being  valued  according  to  its  size  and  brilliancy 
of  color,  like  a  large  emerald  or  ruby  ;  only  the  bulk  required 
to  bestow  value  on  the  one  is  to  be  measured  in  feet  and  tons, 
and  on  the  other  in  lines  and  carats.  The  shafts  must  there- 
fore be,  without  exception,  of  one  block  in  all  buildings  of 
this  kind  ;  for  the  attempt  in  any  place  to  in  crust  or  joint 
them  would  be  a  deception  like  that  of  introducing  a  false 
stone  among  jewellery  (for  a  number  of  joints  of  any  precious 
stone  are  of  course  not  equal  in  value  to  a  single  piece  of 
equal  weight),  and  would  put  an  end  at  once  to  the  spectator's 
confidence  in  the  expression  of  wealth  in  any  portion  of  the 
structure,  or  of  the  spirit  of  sacrifice  in  those  who  raised  it, 

§  xxxiv.  Law  IV.  The  shafts  may  sometimes  be  independ- 
ent of  the  construction.  Exactly  in  proportion  to  the  impor- 
tance which  the  shaft  assumes  as  a  large  jewel,  is  the  diminu- 
tion of  its  importance  as  a  sustaining  member  ;  for  the  delight 
which  we  receive  in  its  abstract  bulk,  and  beauty  of  color,  is 
altogether  independent  of  any  perception  of  its  adaptation  to 
mechanical  necessities.     Like  other  beautiful  things  in  this 

*  "  Quivi  presso  si  vedi  una  colonna  di  tanta  bellezza  e  finezza  che  e 
riputato  piutosto  gioia  die  pietra" — Sansovino,  of  the  verd-antique  pillar 
in  San  Jacomo  dell'  Orio.  A  remarkable  piece  of  natural  history  and 
moral  philosophy,  connected  with  this  subject,  will  be  found  in  the  sec- 
ond chapter  of  our  third  volume,  quoted  from  the  work  of  a  Florentine 
architect  of  the  fifteenth  century. 


8T.  MARK'S. 


87 


world,  its  end  is  to  he  beautiful ;  and,  in  proportion  to  its 
beauty,  it  receives  permission  to  be  otherwise  useless.  We 
do  not  blame  emeralds  and  rubies  because  Ave  cannot  make 
them  into  heads  of  hammers.  Nay,  so  far  from  our  admira- 
tion of  the  jewel  shaft  being  dependent  on  its  doing  work  for 
us,  it  is  very  possible  that  a  chief  part  of  its  preciousness  may 
consist  in  a  delicacy,  fragility,  and  tenderness  of  material, 
which  must  render  it  utterly  unfit  for  hard  work  ;  and  there- 
fore that  we  shall  admire  it  the  more,  because  we  perceive  that 
if  we  were  to  put  much  weight  upon  it,  it  would  be  crushed. 
But,  at  all  events,  it  is  very  clear  that  the  primal  object  in  the 
placing  of  such  shafts  must  be  the  display  of  their  beauty  to 
the  best  advantage,  and  that  therefore  all  imbedding  of  them 
in  walls,  or  crowding  of  them  into  groups,  in  any  position  in 
which  either  their  real  size  or  any  portion  of  their  surface 
would  be  concealed,  is  either  inadmissible  altogether,  or  ob- 
jectionable in  proportion  to  their  value ;  that  no  symmetrical 
or  scientific  arrangements  of  pillars  are  therefore  ever  to  be 
expected  in  buildings  of  this  kind,  and  that  all  such  are  even 
to  be  looked  upon  as  positive  errors  and  misapplications  of 
materials  :  but  that,  on  the  contrary,  we  must  be  constantly 
prepared  to  see,  and  to  see  with  admiration,  shafts  of  great 
size  and  importance  set  in  places  where  their  real  service  is 
little  more  than  nominal,  and  where  the  chief  end  of  their  ex- 
istence is  to  catch  the  sunshine  upon  their  polished  sides,  and 
lead  the  eye  into  delighted  wandering  among  the  mazes  of 
their  azure  veins. 

§  xxxv.  LawY.  The  shafts  may  be  of  variable  size.  Since  the 
value  of  each  shaft  depends  upon  its  bulk,  and  diminishes 
with  the  diminution  of  its  mass,  in  a  greater  ratio  than  the 
size  itself  diminishes,  as  in  the  case  of  all  other  jewellery,  it  is 
evident  that  we  must  not  in  general  expect  perfect  symmetry 
and  equality  among  the  series  of  shafts,  any  more  than  deii- 
niteness  of  application  ;  but  that,  on  the  contrary,  an  accu- 
rately observed  symmetry  ought  to  give  us  a  kind  of  pain,  as 
proving  that  considerable  and  useless  loss  has  been  sustained 
by  some  of  the  shafts,  in  being  cut  down  to  match  with  the 
rest     It  is  true  that  symmetry  is  generally  sought  for  m 


88 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


works  of  smaller  jewellery ;  but,  even  there,  not  a  perfect 

symmetry,  and  obtained  under  circumstances  quite  different 
from  those  which  affect  the  placing  of  shafts  in  architecture. 
First :  the  symmetry  is  usually  imperfect.  The  stones  that 
seem  to  match  each  other  in  a  ring  or  necklace,  appear  to  do 
so  only  because  they  are  so  small  that  their  differences  are  not 
easily  measured  by  the  eye  ;  but  there  is  almost  always  such 
difference  between  them  as  would  be  strikingly  apparent  if  it 
existed  in  the  same  proportion  between  two  shafts  nine  or  ten 
feet  in  height.  Secondly  :  the  quantity  of  stones  which  pass 
through  a  jeweller's  hands,  and  the  facility  of  exchange  of 
such  small  objects,  enable  the  tradesman  to  select  any  num- 
ber of  stones  of  approximate  size  ;  a  selection,  however,  often 
requiring  so  much  time,  that  perfect  symmetry  in  a  group  of 
very  fine  stones  adds  enormously  to  their  value.  But  the  ar- 
chitect has  neither  the  time  nor  the  facilities  of  exchange. 
He  cannot  lay  aside  one  column  in  a  corner  of  his  church  till, 
in  the  course  of  traffic,  he  obtain  another  that  will  match  it ; 
he  has  not  hundreds  of  shafts  fastened  up  in  bundles,  out  of 
which  he  can  match  sizes  at  his  ease ;  he  cannot  send  to  a 
brother-tradesmen  and  exchange  the  useless  stones  for  avail- 
able ones,  to  the  convenience  of  both.  His  blocks  of  stone, 
or  his  ready  hewn  shafts,  have  been  brought  to  him  in  limited 
number,  from  immense  distances  ;  no  others  are  to  be  had  ; 
and  for  those  which  he  does  not  bring  into  use,  there  is  no 
demand  elsewhere.  His  only  means  of  obtaining  symmetry 
will  therefore  be,  in  cutting  down  the  finer  masses  to  equality 
with  the  inferior  ones  ;  and  this  we  ought  not  to  desire  him 
often  to  do.  And  therefore,  while  sometimes  in  a  Baldac- 
chino,  or  an  important  chapel  or  shrine,  this  costly  symmetry 
may  be  necessary,  and  admirable  in  proportion  to  its  probable 
cost,  in  the  general  fabric  we  must  expect  to  see  shafts  intro- 
duced of  size  and  proportion  continually  varying,  and  such 
symmetry  as  may  be  obtained  among  them  never  altogether 
perfect,  and  dependent  for  its  charm  frequently  on  strange 
complexities  and  unexpected  rising  and  falling  of  weight  and 
accent  in  its  marble  syllables  ;  bearing  the  same  relation  to  a 
rigidly  chiselled  and  proportioned  architecture  that  the  wile] 


ST.  MARK'S. 


89 


lyric  rhythm  of  iEschylus  or  Pindar  bears  to  the  finished 
measures  of  Pope. 

§  xxxvi.  The  application  of  the  principles  of  jewellery  to  tho 
smaller  as  well  as  the  larger  blocks,  will  suggest  to  us  another 
reason  for  the  method  of  incrustation  adopted  in  the  walls.  It 
often  happens  that  the  beauty  of  the  veining  in  some  varieties 
of  alabaster  is  so  great,  that  it  becomes  desirable  to  exhibit  ifc 
by  dividing  the  stone,  not  merely  to  economize  its  substance, 
but  to  display  the  changes  in  the  disposition  of  its  fantastic 
lines.  By  reversing  one  of  two  thin  plates  successively  taken 
from  the  stone,  and  placing  their  corresponding  edges  in  con- 
tact, a  perfectly  symmetrical  figure  may  be  obtained,  which 
will  enable  the  eye  to  comprehend  more  thoroughly  the  posi- 
tion of  the  veins.  And  this  is  actually  the  method  in  which, 
for  the  most  part,  the  alabasters  of  St.  Mark  are  employed  ; 
thus  accomplishing  a  double  good, — directing  the  spectator, 
in  the  first  place,  to  close  observation  of  the  nature  of  the 
stone  employed,  and  in  the  second,  giving  him  a  farther  proof 
of  the  honesty  of  intention  in  the  builder  :  for  wherever  simi- 
lar veining  is  discovered  in  two  pieces,  the  fact  is  declared 
that  they  have  been  cut  from  the  same  stone.  It  would  have 
been  easy  to  disguise  the  similarity  by  using  them  in  different 
parts  of  the  building  ;  but  on  the  contrary  they  are  set  edge 
to  edge,  so  that  the  whole  system  of  the  architecture  may  be 
discovered  at  a  glance  by  any  one  acquainted  with  the  nature 
of  the  stones  employed.  Nay,  but,  it  is  perhaps  answered  me, 
not  by  an  ordinary  observer  ;  a  person  ignorant  of  the  nature 
of  alabaster  might  perhaps  fancy  all  these  symmetrical  pat- 
terns to  have  been  found  in  the  stone  itself,  and  thus  be 
doubly  deceived,  supposing  blocks  to  be  solid  and  symmetrical 
which  were  in  reality  subdivided  and  irregular.  I  grant  it  ; 
but  be  it  remembered,  that  in  all  things,  ignorance  is  liable 
to  be  deceived,  and  has  no  right  to  accuse  anything  but  itself 
as  the  source  of  the  deception.  The  style  and  the  words  are 
dishonest,  not  which  are  liable  to  be  misunderstood  if  sub- 
jected to  no  inquiry,  but  which  are  deliberately  calculated  to 
lead  inquiry  astray.  There  are  perhaps  no  great  or  noble 
truths,  from  those  of  religion  downwards,  which  present  no 


90 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


mistakeable  aspect  to  casual  or  ignorant  contemplation.  Both 
the  truth  and  the  lie  agree  in  hiding  themselves  at  first,  but 
the  lie  continues  to  hide  itself  with  effort,  as  we  approach  to 
examine  it ;  and  leads  us,  if  undiscovered,  into  deeper  lies;  the 
truth  reveals  itself  in  proportion  to  our  patience  and  knowl- 
edge, discovers  itself  kindly  to  our  pleading,  and  leads  us5 
as  it  is  discovered,  into  deeper  truths. 

§  xxxvu.  Law  VI.  The  decoration  must  be  shallow  in  cutting. 
The  method  of  construction  being  thus  systematized,  it  is  evi- 
dent that  a  certain  style  of  decoration  must  arise  out  of  it, 
based  on  the  primal  condition  that  over  the  greater  part  of 
the  edifice  there  can  be  no  deep  cutting.  The  thin  sheets  of 
covering  stones  do  not  admit  of  it ;  we  must  not  cut  them 
through  to  the  bricks  ;  and  whatever  ornaments  we  engrave 
upon  them  cannot,  therefore,  be  more  than  an  inch  deep  at 
the  utmost.  Consider  for  an  instant  the  enormous  differences 
which  this  single  condition  compels  between  the  sculptural 
decoration  of  the  incrusted  style,  and  that  of  the  solid  stones 
of  the  North,  which  may  be  hacked  and  hewn  into  whatever 
cavernous  hollows  and  black  recesses  we  choose  ;  struck  into 
grim  darknesses  and  grotesque  projections,  and  rugged  plough- 
ing^ up  of  sinuous  furrows,  in  which  any  form  or  thought 
may  be  wrought  out  on  any  scale, — mighty  statues  with  robes 
of  rock  and  crowned  foreheads  burning  in  the  sun,  or  venom- 
ous goblins  and  stealthy  dragons  shrunk  into  lurking-places 
of  untraceable  shade  :  think  of  this,  and  of  the  play  and  free- 
dom given  to  the  sculptor's  hand  and  temper,  to  smite  out 
and  in,  hither  and  thither,  as  he  will ;  and  then  consider 
wiiat  must  be  the  different  spirit  of  the  design  which  is  to  be 
wrought  on  the  smooth  surface  of  a  film  of  marble,  where 
every  line  and  shadow  must  be  drawn  with  the  most  tender 
pencilling  and  cautious  reserve  of  resource, — where  even  the 
chisel  must  not  strike  hard,  lest  it  break  through  the  delicate 
stone,  nor  the  mind  be  permitted  in  any  impetuosity  of  con- 
ception inconsistent  with  the  fine  discipline  of  the  hand.  Con- 
sider that  whatever  animal  or  human  form  is  to  be  suggested, 
must  be  projected  on  a  flat  surface  ;"  that  all  the  features  of 
the  countenance,  the  folds  of  the  drapery,  the  involutions  ot 


ST.  MARK'S. 


91 


the  limbs,  must  be  so  reduced  and  subdued  that  the  whole 
work  becomes  rather  a  piece  of  fine  drawing  than  of  sculpture ; 
and  then  follow  out,  until  you  begin  to  perceive  their  end- 
lessness, the  resulting  differences  of  character  which  will  be 
necessitated  in  every  part  of  the  ornamental  designs  of  these 
iuerusted  churches,  as  compared  with  that  of  the  Northern 
scliools.    I  shall  endeavor  to  trace  a  few  of  them  only. 

§  xxxviii.  The  first  would  of  course  be  a  diminution  of  the 
builders  dependence  upon  human  form  as  a  source  of  orna- 
ment :  since  exactly  in  proportion  to  the  dignity  of  the  form 
itself  is  the  loss  which  it  must  sustain  in  being  reduced  to  a 
shallow  and  linear  bas-relief,  as  well  as  the  difficulty  of  ex- 
pressing it  at  all  under  such  conditions.  Wherever  sculpture 
can  be  solid,  the  nobler  characters  of  the  human  form  at  once 
lead  the  artist  to  aim  at  its  representation,  rather  than  at  that 
of  inferior  organisms  ;  but  when  all  is  to  be  reduced  to  out- 
line, the  forms  of  flowers  and  lower  animals  are  always  more 
intelligible,  and  are  felt  to  approach  much  more  to  a  satisfac- 
tory rendering  of  the  objects  intended,  than  the  outlines  of 
the  human  body.  This  inducement  to  seek  for  resources  of 
ornament  in  the  lower  fields  of  creation  was  powerless  in  the 
minds  of  the  great  Pagan  nations,  Ninevite,  Greek,  or  Egyp- 
tian :  first,  because  their  thoughts  were  so  concentrated  on 
their  own  capacities  and  fates,  that  they  preferred  the  rudest 
suggestion  of  human  form  to  the  best  of  an  inferior  organism  ; 
secondly,  because  their  constant  practice  in  solid  sculpture, 
often  colossal,  enabled  them  to  bring  a  vast  amount  of  science 
into  the  treatment  of  the  lines,  whether  of  the  low  relief,  the 
monochrome  vase,  or  shallow  hieroglyphic. 

§  xxxix.  But  wThen  various  ideas  adverse  to  the  representa- 
tion of  animal,  and  especially  of  human,  form,  originating 
with  the  Arabs  and  iconoclast  Greeks,  had  begun  at  any  rate 
to  direct  the  builders'  minds  to  seek  for  decorative  materials 
in  inferior  types,  and  when  diminished  practice  in  solid  sculpt- 
ure had  rendered  it  more  difficult  to  find  artists  capable  of 
satisfactorily  reducing  the  high  organisms  to  their  element- 
ary outlines,  the  choice  of  subject  for  surface  sculpture  would 
be  more  and  more  uninterruptedly  directed  to  floral  organ- 


92 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


isms,  and  human  and  animal  form  would  become  diminished 
in  size,  frequency,  and  general  importance.  So  that,  while  in 
the  Northern  solid  architecture  we  constantly  find  the  effect 
of  its  noblest  features  dependent  on  ranges  of  statues,  often 
colossal,  and  full  of  abstract  interest,  independent  of  their 
architectural  service,  in  the  Southern  incrusted  style  wre  must 
expect  to  find  the  human  form  for  the  most  part  subordinate 
and  diminutive,  and  involved  among  designs  of  foliage  and 
flowers,  in  the  manner  of  which  endless  examples  had  been 
furnished  by  the  fantastic  ornamentation  of  the  Komans,  from 
which  the  incrusted  style  had  been  directly  derived. 

§  xl.  Farther.  In  proportion  to  the  degree  in  which  his 
subject  must  be  reduced  to  abstract  outline  will  be  the  ten- 
dency in  the  sculptor  to  abandon  naturalism  of  representa- 
tion, and  subordinate  every  form  to  architectural  service^ 
Where  the  flower  or  animal  can  be  hewn  into  bold  relief, 
there  will  always  be  a  temptation  to  render  the  representa- 
tion of  it  more  complete  than  is  necessary,  or  even  to  intro- 
duce details  and  intricacies  inconsistent  with  simplicity  of 
distant  effect.  Very  often  a  worse  fault  than  this  is  commit- 
ted ;  and  in  the  endeavor  to  give  vitality  to  the  stone,  the 
original  ornamental  purpose  of  the  design  is  sacrificed  or  for- 
gotten. But  when  nothing  of  this  kind  can  be  attempted,  and. 
a  slight  outline  is  all  that  the  sculptor  can  command,  we  may 
anticipate  that  this  outline  will  be  composed  with  exquisite 
grace  ;  and  that  the  richness  of  its  ornamental  arrangement 
will  atone  for  the  feebleness  of  its  power  of  portraiture.  On 
the  porch  of  a  Northern  cathedral  we  may  seek  for  the  images 
of  the  flowers  that  grow  in  the  neighboring  fields,  and  as  we 
watch  with  wonder  the  grey  stones  that  fret  themselves  into 
thorns,  and  soften  into  blossoms,  we  may  care  little  that  these 
knots  of  ornament,  as  we  retire  from  them  to  contemplate  the 
whole  building,  appear  unconsidered  or  confused.  On  the 
incrusted  building  we  must  expect  no  such  deception  of  the 
eye  or  thoughts.  It  may  sometimes  be  difficult  to  determine, 
from  the  involutions  of  its  linear  sculpture,  what  were  the 
natural  forms  which  originally  suggested  them  :  but  we  may 
confidently  expect  that  the  grace  of  their  arrangement  wiB 


ST.  MARK'S. 


93 


always  be  complete ;  that  there  will  not  be  a  line  in  them 
which  could  be  taken  away  without  injury,  nor  one  wanting 
which  could  be  added  with  advantage. 

§  xli.  Farther.  While  the  sculptures  of  the  incrusted 
school  will  thus  be  generally  distinguished  by  care  and 
purity  rather  than  force,  and  will  be,  for  the  most  part,  ut- 
terly wanting  in  depth  of  shadow,  there  will  be  one  means  of 
obtaining  darkness  peculiarly  simple  and  obvious,  and  often 
in  the  sculptor's  power.  Wherever  he  can,  without  danger, 
leave  a  hollow  behind  his  covering  slabs,  or  use  them,  like 
glass,  to  fill  an  aperture  in  the  wall,  he  can,  by  piercing  them 
with  holes,  obtain  points  or  spaces  of  intense  blackness  to 
contrast  with  the  light  tracing  of  the  rest  of  his  design.  And 
we  may  expect  to  find  this  artifice  used  the  more  extensively, 
because,  while  it  will  be  an  effective  means  of  ornamentation 
on  the  exterior  of  the  building,  it  will  be  also  the  safest  way 
of  admitting  light  to  the  interior,  still  totally  excluding  both 
rain  and  wind.  And  it  will  naturally  follow  that  the  archi- 
tect, thus  familiarized  with  the  effect  of  black  and  sudden 
points  of  shadow,  will  often  seek  to  carry  the  same  principle 
into  other  portions  of  his  ornamentation,  and  by  deep  drill- 
holes, or  perhaps  inlaid  portions  of  black  color,  to  refresh  the 
eye  where  it  may  be  wrearied  by  the  lightness  of  the  general 
handling. 

§  xlii.  Farther.  Exactly  in  proportion  to  the  degree  in 
which  the  force  of  sculpture  is  subdued,  will  be  the  impor- 
tance attached  to  color  as  a  means  of  effect  or  constitu- 
ent of  beauty.  I  have  above  stated  that  the  incrusted  style 
was  the  only  one  in  which  perfect  or  permanent  color  dec- 
oration was  jiossible.  It  is  also  the  only  one  in  which  a 
true  system  of  color  decoration  was  ever  likely  to  be  invented. 
In  order  to  understand  this,  the  reader  must  permit  me  to  re- 
view with  some  care  the  nature  of  the  principles  of  coloring 
adopted  by  the  Northern  and  Southern  nations. 

§  xliii.  I  believe  that  from  the  beginning  of  the  world  there 
has  never  been  a  true  or  fine  school  of  art  in  which  color  was 
despised.  It  has  often  been  imperfectly  attained  and  injudi- 
ciously applied,  but  I  believe  it  to  be  one  of  the  essential  signs 


04 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


of  life  in  a  school  of  art,  that  it  loves  color  ;  and  I  know  it  to 
be  one  of  the  first  signs  of  death  in  the  Renaissance  schools, 
that  they  despise  color. 

Observe,  it  is  not  now  the  question  whether  our  Northern 
cathedrals  are  better  with  color  or  without.  Perhaps  the 
great  monotone  grey  of  Nature  and  of  Time  is  a  better  color 
than  any  that  the  human  hand  can  give  ;  but  that  is  nothing 
to  our  present  business.  The  simple  fact  is,  that  the  builders 
of  those  cathedrals  laid  upon  them  the  brightest  colors  they 
could  obtain,  and  that  there  is  not,  as  far  as  I  am  aware,  in 
Europe,  any  monument  of  a  truly  noble  school  which  has  not 
been  either  painted  all  over,  or  vigorously  touched  with  paint, 
mosaic,  and  gilding  in  its  prominent  parts.  Thus  far  Egyp- 
tians, Greeks,  Goths,  Arabs,  and  mediaeval  Christians  all  agree : 
none  of  them,  when  in  their  right  senses,  ever  think  of  doing 
without  paint ;  and  therefore,  when  I  said  above  that  the 
Venetians  were  the  only  people  who  had  thoroughly  sympa- 
thized with  the  Arabs  in  this  respect,  I  referred,  first,  to  their 
intense  love  of  color,  which  led  them  to  lavish  the  most  ex- 
pensive decorations  on  ordinary  dwelling-houses  ;  and,  sec- 
ondly, to  that  perfection  of  the  color-instinct  in  them,  which 
enabled  them  to  render  whatever  they  did,  in  this  kind,  as 
just  in  principle  as  it  was  gorgeous  in  appliance.  It  is  this 
principle  of  theirs,  as  distinguished  from  that  of  the  Northern 
builders,  which  we  have  finally  to  examine. 

§  xliv.  In  the  second  chapter  of  the  first  volume,  it  was 
noticed  that  the  architect  of  Bourges  Cathedral  liked  haw- 
thorn, and  that  the  porch  of  his  cathedral  was  therefore  dec- 
orated with  a  rich  wreath  of  it ;  but  another  of  the  predilec- 
tions of  that  architect  was  there  unnoticed,  namely,  that  he 
did  not  at  all  like  grey  hawthorn,  but  preferred  it  green,  and 
he  painted  it  green  accordingly,  as  bright  as  he  could.  The 
color  is  still  left  in  every  sheltered  interstice  of  the  foliage. 
He  had,  in  fact,  hardly  the  choice  of  any  other  color  ;  he  might 
have  gilded  the  thorns,  by  way  of  allegorizing  human  life,  but 
if  they  were  to  be  painted  at  all,  they  could  hardly  be  painted 
anything  but  green,  and  green  all  over.  People  would  have 
been  apt  to  object  to  any  pursuit  of  abstract  harmonies  of 


ST.  MARK'S. 


95 


color,  which  might  have  induced  him  to  paint  his  hawthorn 
blue. 

§  xlv.  In  the  same  way,  whenever  the  subject  of  the  sculpt- 
ure was  definite,  its  color  wTas  of  necessity  definite  also  ;  and, 
in  the  hands  of  the  Northern  builders,  it  often  became,  in 
consequence,  rather  the  means  of  explaining  and  animating 
the  stories  of  their  stone-work,  than  a  matter  of  abstract  deco  - 
rative science.  Flowers  were  painted  red,  trees  green,  and 
faces  flesh-color  ;  the  result  of  the  whole  being  often  far  more 
entertaining  than  beautiful.  And  also,  though  in  the  lines  of 
the  mouldings  and  the  decorations  of  shafts  or  vaults,  a  richer 
and  more  abstract  method  of  coloring  was  adopted  (aided  by 
the  rapid  development  of  the  best  principles  of  color  in  early 
glass-painting),  the  vigorous  depths  of  shadow  in  the  Northern 
sculpture  confused  the  architect's  eye,  compelling  him  to  use 
violent  colors  in  the  recesses,  if  these  were  to  be  seen  as  color 
at  all,  and  thus  injured  his  perception  of  more  delicate  color 
harmonies  ;  so  that  in  innumerable  instances  it  becomes  very 
disputable  whether  monuments  even  of  the  best  times  were 
improved  by  the  color  bestowed  upon  them,  or  the  contrary. 
But,  in  the  South,  the  flatness  and  comparatively  vague  forms 
of  the  sculpture,  while  they  appeared  to  call  for  color  in  order 
to  enhance  their  interest,  presented  exactly  the  conditions 
which  would  set  it  off  to  the  greatest  advantage  ;  breadth  of 
surface  displaying  even  the  most  delicate  tints  in  the  lights, 
and  faintness  of  shadow  joining  with  the  most  delicate  and 
pearly  greys  of  color  harmony  ;  while  the  subject  of  the  design 
being  in  nearly  all  cases  reduced  to  mere  intricacy  of  orna- 
mental line,  might  be  colored  in  any  way  the  architect  chose 
without  any  loss  of  rationality.  Where  oak-leaves  and  roses 
were  carved  into  fresh  relief  and  perfect  bloom,  it  was  neces- 
sary to  paint  the  one  green  and  the  other  red  ;  but  in  portions 
of  ornamentation  where  there  was  nothing  which  could  be 
definitely  construed  into  either  an  oak-leaf  or  a  rose,  but  Q 
mere  labyrinth  of  beautiful  lines,  becoming  here  something 
like  a  leaf,  and  there  something  like  a  flower,  the  whole  tracery 
of  the  sculpture  might  be  left  white,  and  grounded  with  gold 
or  blue,  or  treated  in  any  other  manner  best  harmonizing  with 


90 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


the  colors  around  it.  And  as  the  necessarily  feeble  character 
of  the  sculpture  called  for  and  was  ready  to  display  the  best 
arrangements  of  color,  so  the  precious  marbles  in  the  archi- 
tect's hands  give  him  at  once  the  best  examples  and  the  best 
means  of  color.  The  best  examples,  for  the  tints  of  all  natural 
stones  are  as  exquisite  in  quality  as  endless  in  change ;  and 
the  best  means,  for  they  are  all  permanent. 

§  xlvi.  Every  motive  thus  concurred  in  urging  him  to  the 
study  of  chromatic  decoration,  and  every  advantage  was  given 
him  in  the  pursuit  of  it ;  and  this  at  the  very  moment  when, 
as  presently  to  be  noticed,  the  naivete  of  barbaric  Christianity 
could  only  be  forcibly  appealed  to  by  the  help  of  colored  pict- 
ures :  so  that,  both  externally  and  internally,  the  architectu- 
ral construction  became  partly  merged  in  pictorial  effect ;  and 
the  whole  edifice  is  to  be  regarded  less  as  a  temple  wherein 
to  pray,  than  as  itself  a  Book  of  Common  Prayer,  a  vast  illumi- 
nated missal,  bound  with  alabaster  instead  of  parchment, 
studded  with  porphyry  pillars  instead  of  jewels,  and  written 
within  and  without  in  letters  of  enamel  and  gold. 

§  xlvii.  Law  VII.  Tlial  the  impression  of  the  architecture  u 
not  to  be  dependent  on  size.  And  now  there  is  but  one  final 
consequence  to  be  deduced.  The  reader  understands,  I  trust, 
by  this  time,  that  the  claims  of  these  several  parts  of  the  build- 
ing upon  his  attention  will  depend  upon  their  delicacy  of  de- 
sign, their  perfection  of  color,  their  preciousness  of  material, 
and  their  legendary  interest.  All  these  qualities  are  indepen- 
dent of  size,  and  partly  even  inconsistent  with  it.  Neither  deli- 
cacy of  surface  sculpture,  nor  subtle  gradations  of  color,  can 
be  appreciated  by  the  eye  at  a  distance  ;  and  since  we  have 
seen  that  our  sculpture  is  generally  to  be  only  an  inch  or  two 
in  depth,  and  that  our  coloring  is  in  great  part  to  be  produced 
with  the  soft  tints  and  veins  of  natural  stones,  it  will  follow 
necessarily  that  none  of  the  parts  of  the  building  can  be  re- 
moved far  from  the  eye,  and  therefore  that  the  whole  mass  of 
it  cannot  be  large.  It  is  not  even  desirable  that  it  should  be 
so  ;  for  the  temper  in  which  the  mind  addresses  itself  to  con- 
template minute  and  beautiful  details  is  altogether  different 
from  that  in  which  it  submits  itself  to  vague  impressions  of 


ST.  MARK'S. 


97 


space  and  size.  And  therefore  we  must  not  be  disappointed, 
but  grateful,  when  we  find  all  the  best  work  of  the  building 
concentrated  within  a  space  comparatively  small ;  and  that,  for 
the  great  cliff- like  buttresses  and  mighty  piers  of  the  North, 
shooting  up  into  indiscernible  height,  we  have  here  low  walls 
spread  before  us  like  the  pages  of  a  book,  and  shafts  whoso 
capitals  we  may  touch  with  our  hand. 

§  xlviii.  The  due  consideration  of  the  principles  above 
stated  will  enable  the  traveller  to  judge  with  more  candor  and 
justice  of  the  architecture  of  St.  Mark's  than  usually  it  would 
have  been  possible  for  him  to  do  while  under  the  influence  of 
the  prejudices  necessitated  by  familiarity  with  the  very  differ- 
ent schools  of  Northern  art.  I  wish  it  were  in  my  power  to 
lay  also  before  the  general  reader  some  exemplification  of  the 
manner  in  which  these  strange  principles  are  developed  in  the 
lovely  building.  But  exactly  in  proportion  to  the  nobility  of 
any  work,  is  the  difficulty  of  conveying  a  just  impression  of 
it  ;  and  wherever  I  have  occasion  to  bestow  high  praise,  there 
it  is  exactly  most  dangerous  for  me  to  endeavor  to  illustrate 
my  meaning,  except  by  reference  to  the  work  itself.  And,  in 
fact,  the  principal  reason  why  architectural  criticism  is  at  this 
day  so  far  behind  all  other,  is  the  impossibility  of  illustrating 
the  best  architecture  faithfully.  Of  the  various  schools  of 
painting,  examples  are  accessible  to  every  one,  and  reference 
to  the  works  themselves  is  found  sufficient  for  all  purposes  of 
criticism  ;  but  there  is  nothing  like  St.  Mark's  or  the  Ducal 
Palace  to  be  referred  to  in  the  National  Gallery,  and  no  faith- 
ful illustration  of  them  is  possible  on  the  scale  of  such  a  vol- 
ume as  this.  And  it  is  exceedingly  difficult  on  any  scale. 
Nothing  is  so  rare  in  art,  as  far  as  my  own  experience  goes, 
as  a  fair  illustration  of  architecture  ;  perfect  illustration  of  it 
does  not  exist.  For  all  good  architecture  depends  upon  the 
adaptation  of  its  chiselling  to  the  effect  at  a  certain  distance 
from  the  eye  ;  and  to  render  the  peculiar  confusion  in  the 
midst  of  order,  and  uncertainty  in  the  midst  of  decision,  and 
mystery  in  the  midst  of  trenchant  lines,  which  are  the  result 
of  distance,  together  with  perfect  expression  of  the  peculiar- 
ities of  the  design,  requires  the  skill  of  the  most  admirable 
Vol.  II. -7 


TEE  STONES  OF  VENICE, 


artist,  devoted  to  the  work  with  the  most  severe  conscientious* 
ness,  neither  the  skill  nor  the  determination  having  as  vet 
been  given  to  the  subject.  And  in  the  illustration  of  detai]s; 
every  building  of  any  pretensions  to  high  architectural  rank 
would  require  a  volume  of  plates,  and  those  finished  with 
extraordinary  care.  With  respect  to  the  two  buildings  which 
are  the  principal  subjects  of  the  present  volume,  St.  Mark's 
and  the  Ducal  Palace,  I  have  found  it  quite  impossible  to  do 
them  the  slightest  justice  by  any  kind  of  portraiture  ;  and  I 
abandoned  the  endeavor  in  the  case  of  the  latter  with  less  re- 
gret, because  in  the  new  Crystal  Palace  (as  the  poetical  public 
insist  upon  calling  it,  though  it  is  neither  a  palace,  nor  of  crys- 
tal) there  will  be  placed,  I  believe,  a  noble  cast  of  one  of  its 
angles.  As  for  St.  Mark's,  the  effort  was  hopeless  from  the 
beginning.  For  its  effect  depends  not  only  upon  the  most 
delicate  sculpture  in  every  part,  but,  as  we  have  just  stated, 
eminently  on  its  color  also,  and  that  the  most  subtle,  vari- 
able, inexpressible  color  in  the  world, — the  color  of  glass,  of 
transparent  alabaster,  of  polished  marble,  and  lustrous  gold. 
It  would  be  easier  to  illustrate  a  crest  of  Scottish  mountain, 
with  its  purple  heather  and  pale  harebells  at  their  fullest  and 
fairest,  or  a  glade  of  Jura  forest,  with  its  floor  of  anemone  and 
moss,  than  a  single  portico  of  St.  Mark's.  The  fragment  of 
one  of  its  archivolts,  given  at  the  bottom  of  the  opposite  Plate, 
is  not  to  illustrate  the  thing  itself,  but  to  illustrate  the  impos- 
sibility of  illustration. 

§  xlix.  It  is  left  a  fragment,  in  order  to  get  it  on  a  larger 
scale  ;  and  yet  even  on  this  scale  it  is  too  small  to  show  the 
sharp  folds  and  points  of  the  marble  vine-leaves  with  sufficient 
clearness.  The  ground  of  it  is  gold,  the  sculpture  in  the 
spandrils  is  not  more  than  an  inch  and  a  half  deep,  rarely  so 
much.  It  is  in  fact  nothing  more  than  an  exquisite  sketching 
of  outlines  in  marble,  to  about  the  same  depth  as  in  the  Elgin 
frieze  ;  the  draperies,  however,  being  filled  with  close  folds, 
in  the  manner  of  the  Byzantine  pictures,  folds  especially 
necessary  here,  as  large  masses  could  not  be  expressed  in  the 
shallow  sculpture  without  becoming  insipid ;  but  the  disposi- 
tion of  these  folds  is  always  most  beautiful,  and  often  opposed 


ST.  MARK'S. 


09 


by  broad  and  simple  spaces,  like  that  obtained  by  the  scroll 
in  the  hand  of  the  prophet,  seen  in  the  plate. 

The  balls  in  the  archivolt  project  considerably,  and  the  in- 
terstices between  their  interwoven  bands  of  marble  are  rilled 
with  colors  like  the  illuminations  of  a  manuscript ;  violet, 
crimson,  blue,  gold,  and  green  alternately  :  but  no  green  is 
ever  used  without  an  intermixture  of  blue  pieces  in  the  mo- 
saic, nor  any  blue  without  a  little  centre  of  pale  green  ;  some- 
times only  a  single  piece  of  glass  a  quarter  of  an  inch  square, 
so  subtle  was  the  feeling  for  color  which  was  thus  to  be  satis- 
tied.*  The  intermediate  circles  have  golden  stars  set  on  an 
azure  ground,  varied  in  the  same  manner ;  and  the  small 
crosses  seen  in  the  intervals  are  alternately  blue  and  subdued 
scarlet,  with  two  small  circles  of  white  set  in  the  golden 
ground  above  and  beneath  them,  each  only  about  half  an  inch 
across  (this  work,  remember,  being  on  the  outside  of  the 
building,  and  twenty  feet  above  the  eye),  while  the  blue 
crosses  have  each  a  pale  green  centre.  Of  all  this  exquisitely 
mingled  hue,  no  plate,  however  large  or  expensive,  could  give 
any  adequate  conception  ;  but,  if  the  reader  will  supply  in 
imagination  to  the  engraving  what  he  supplies  to  a  common 
wroodcut  of  a  group  of  flowers,  the  decision  of  the  respective 
merits  of  modern  and  of  Byzantine  architecture  may  be  al- 
lowed to  rest  on  this  fragment  of  St.  Mark's  alone. 

From  the  vine-leaves  of  that  archivolt,  though  there  is  no 
direct  imitation  of  nature  in  them,  but  on  the  contrary  a  stu- 
dious subjection  to  architectural  purpose  more  particularly 
to  be  noticed  hereafter,  we  may  yet  receive  the  same  kind 
of  pleasure  which  we  have  in  seeing  true  vine-leaves  and 
wreathed  branches  traced  upon  golden  light ;  its  stars  upon 
their  azure  ground  ought  to  make  us  remember,  as  its  builder 
remembered,  the  stars  that  ascend  and  fall  in  the  great  arch 
of  the  sky :  and  I  believe  that  stars,  and  boughs,  and  leaves, 
and  bright  colors  are  everlastingly  lovely,  and  to  be  by  all 

*  The  fact  is,  that  no  two  tessera?  of  the  glass  are  exactly  of  the  same 
tint  the  greens  being  all  varied  with  blues,  the  blues  of  different  depths, 
the  reds  of  different  clearness,  so  that  the  effect  of  each  mass  of  color  is 
full  of  variety,  like  the  stippled  color  of  a  fruit  piece. 


100 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


men  beloved  ;  and,  moreover,  that  church  walls  grimly  seared 
with  squared  lines,  are  not  better  nor  nobler  things  than 
these.  I  believe  the  man  who  designed  and  the  men  who  de- 
lighted in  that  archivolt  to  have  been  wise,  happy,  and  holy. 
Let  the  reader  look  back  to  the  archivolt  I  have  already  given 
out  of  the  streets  of  London  (Plate  XIII.  Vol.  I.),  and  see  what 
there  is  in  it  to  make  us  any  of  the  three.  Let  him  remem- 
ber that  the  men  who  design  such  work  as  that  call  St.  Mark's 
a  barbaric  monstrosity,  and  let  him  judge  between  us. 

§  l.  Some  farther  details  of  the  St.  Mark's  architecture,  and 
especially  a  general  account  of  Byzantine  capitals,  and  of  the 
principal  ones  at  the  angles  of  the  church,  will  be  found  in 
the  following  chapter.*  Here  I  must  pass  on  to  the  second 
part  of  our  immediate  subject,  namely,  the  inquiry  how  far 
the  exquisite  and  varied  ornament  of  St.  Mark's  fits  it,  as  a 
Temple,  for  its  sacred  purpose,  and  would  be  applicable  in 
the  churches  of  modern  times.  We  have  here  evidently  two 
questions  :  the  first,  that  wide  and  continually  agitated  one, 
whether  richness  of  ornament  be  right  in  churches  at  all ;  the 
second,  whether  the  ornament  of  St.  Mark's  be  of  a  truly  ec- 
clesiastical and  Christian  character. 

§  li.  In  the  first  chapter  of  the  "  Seven  Lamps  of  Architect- 
ure "  I  endeavored  to  lay  before  the  reader  some  reasons  why 
churches  ought  to  be  richly  adorned,  as  being  the  only  places 
in  which  the  desire  of  offering  a  portion  of  all  precious  things 
to  God  could  be  legitimately  expressed.  But  I  left  wholly 
untouched  the  question  :  whether  the  church,  as  such,  stood 
in  need  of  adornment,  or  would  be  better  fitted  for  its  pur- 
poses by  possessing  it.  This  question  I  would  now  ask  the 
reader  to  deal  with  briefly  and  candidly. 

The  chief  difficulty  in  deciding  it  has  arisen  from  its  being 
always  presented  to  us  in  an  unfair  form.  It  is  asked  of  us, 
or  we  ask  of  ourselves,  whether  the  sensation  which  we  now 
feel  in  passing  from  our  own  modern  dwelling-house,  through 
a  newly  built  street,  into  a  cathedral  of  the  thirteenth  century, 

*  Some  illustration,  also,  of  what  was  said  in  §  xxxiii.  above,  respect- 
ing the  value  of  the  shafts  of  St.  Marks  as  large  jewels,  will  be  found 
in  Appendix  9,  "Shafts  of  St.  Mark's." 


ST.  MARK'S. 


101 


be  safe  or  desirable  as  a  preparation  for  public  worship.  But 
we  never  ask  whether  that  sensation  was  at  all  calculated  upon 
by  the  builders  of  the  cathedral. 

§  lii.  Now  I  do  not  say  that  the  contrast  of  the  ancient 
with  the  modern  building,  and  the  strangeness  with  which 
the  earlier  architectural  forms  fall  upon  the  eye,  are  at  this 
day  disadvantageous.  But  I  do  say,  that  their  effect,  what- 
ever it  may  be,  was  entirely  uncalculated  upon  by  the  old 
builder.  He  endeavored  to  make  his  work  beautiful,  but 
never  expected  it  to  be  strange.  And  we  incapacitate  our- 
selves altogether  from  fair  judgment  of  its  intention,  if  we  for- 
get that,  when  it  was  built,  it  rose  in  the  midst  of  other  work 
fanciful  and  beautiful  as  itself ;  that  every  dwelling-house  in 
the  middle  ages  was  rich  with  the  same  ornaments  and  quaint 
with  the  same  grotesques  which  fretted  the  porches  or  ani- 
mated the  gargoyles  of  the  cathedral ;  that  what  we  now  re- 
gard with  doubt  and  wonder,  as  well  as  with  delight,  was  then 
the  natural  continuation,  into  the  principal  edifice  of  the  city, 
of  a  style  which  was  familiar  to  every  eye  throughout  all  its 
lanes  and  streets  ;  and  that  the  architect  had  often  no  more 
idea  of  producing  a  peculiarly  devotional  impression  by  the 
richest  color  and  the  most  elaborate  carving,  than  the  builder 
of  a  modern  meeting-house  has  by  his  white-washed  walls  and 
square-cut  casements.* 

§  Lift  Let  the  reader  fix  this  great  fact  well  in  his  mind, 
and  then  follow  out  its  important  corollaries.  We  attach,  in 
modern  days,  a  kind  of  sacredness  to  the  pointed  arch  and  the 
groined  roof,  because,  whi]e  we  look  habitually  out  of  square 
windows  and  live  under  flat  ceilings,  we  meet  with  the  more 
beautiful  forms  in  the  ruins  of  our  abbeys.  But  when  those 
abbeys  were  built,  the  pointed  arch  was  used  for  every  shop  - 
door,  as  well  as  for  that  of  the  cloister,  and  the  feudal  baron 
and  freebooter  feasted,  as  the  monk  sang,  under  vaulted  roofs ; 
not  because  the  vaulting  was  thought  especially  appropriate  to 
either  the  revel  or  psalm,  but  because  it  was  then  the  form  in 
which  a  strong  roof  was  easiest  built.  We  have  destroyed  the 
goodly  architecture  of  our  cities  ;  we  have  substituted  one 
*  See  the  farther  notice  of  this  subject  in  Vol.  III.  Chap.  IV. 


102 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


wholly  devoid  of  beauty  or  meaning  ;  and  then  we  reason  re* 
specting  the  strange  effect  upon  our  minds  of  the  fragments 
which,  fortunately,  we  have  left  in  our  churches,  as  if  those 
churches  had  always  been  designed  to  stand  out  in  strong 
relief  from  all  the  buildings  around  them,  and  Gothic  archi- 
tecture had  always  been,  what  it  is  now,  a  religious  language, 
like  Monkish  Latin.  Most  readers  know,  if  they  would  arouse 
their  knowledge,  that  this  was  not  so  ;  but  they  take  no  pains 
to  reason  the  matter  out :  they  abandon  themselves  drowsily 
to  the  impression  that  Gothic  is  a  peculiarly  ecclesiastical 
style ;  and  sometimes,  even,  that  richness  in  church  ornament 
is  a  condition  or  furtherance  of  the  Romish  religion.  Un- 
doubtedly it  has  become  so  in  modern  times  :  for  there  being 
no  beauty  in  our  recent  architecture,  and  much  in  the  remains 
of  the  past,  and  these  remains  being  almost  exclusively  eccle- 
siastical, the  High  Church  and  Romanist  parties  have  not  been 
slow  in  availing  themselves  of  the  natural  instincts  which  were 
deprived  of  all  food  except  from  this  source  ;  and  have  will- 
ingly promulgated  the  theory,  that  because  all  the  good 
architecture  that  is  now  left  is  expressive  of  High  Church  or 
Romanist  doctrines,  all  good  architecture  ever  has  been  and 
must  be  so,— a  piece  of  absurdity  from  which,  though  here 
and  there  a  country  clergyman  may  innocently  believe  it,  I 
hope  the  common  sense  of  the  nation  will  soon  manfully  quit 
itself.  It  needs  but  little  inquiry  into  the  spirit  of  the  past, 
to  ascertain  what,  once  for  all,  I  would  desire  here  clearly  and 
forcibly  to  assert,  that  wherever  Christian  church  architecture 
has  been  good  and  lovely,  it  has  been  merely  the  perfect  de- 
velopment of  the  common  dwelling-house  architecture  of  the 
period  ;  that  when  the  pointed  arch  was  used  in  the  street,  it 
was  used  in  the  church  ;  when  the  round  arch  was  used  in 
the  street,  it  was  used  in  the  church  ;  when  the  pinnacle  was 
set  over  the  garret  window,  it  was  set  over  the  belfry  tower  ; 
when  the  flat  roof  was  used  for  the  drawing-room,  it  was  used 
for  the  nave.  There  is  no  sacredness  in  round  arches,  nor  in 
pointed  ;  none  in  pinnacles,  nor  in  buttresses  ;  none  in  pil- 
lars, nor  in  traceries.  Churches  were  larger  than  most  other 
buildings,  because  they  had  to  hold  more  people ;  they  were 


ST.  MARK'S. 


103 


more  adorned  than  most  other  buildings,  because  they  were 
safer  from  violence,  and  were  the  fitting  subjects  of  devotional 
offering  :  but  they  were  never  built  in  any  separate,  mystical, 
and  religious  style  ;  they  were  built  in  the  manner  that  was 
common  and  familiar  to  everybody  at  the  time.  The  flam- 
boyant traceries  that  adorn  the  facade  of  Rouen  Cathedral 
had  once  their  fellows  in  every  window  of  every  house  in  the 
market-place  ;  the  sculptures  that  adorn  the  porches  of  St. 
Mark's  had  once  their  match  on  the  walls  of  every  palace  on 
the  Grand  Canal ;  and  the  only  difference  between  the  church 
and  the  dwelling-house  was,  that  there  existed  a  symbolical 
meaning  in  the  distribution  of  the  parts  of  all  buildings 
mernt  for  worship,  and  that  the  painting  or  sculpture  was,  in 
the  one  case,  less  frequently  of  profane  subject  than  in  the 
other.  A  more  severe  distinction  cannot  be  drawn  :  for  secu- 
lar history  was  constantly  introduced  into  church  architecture ; 
and  sacred  history  or  allusion  generally  formed  at  least  one 
half  of  the  ornament  of  the  dwelling-house. 

§  liv.  This  fact  is  so  important,  and  so  little  considered, 
that  I  must  be  pardoned  for  dwelling  upon  it  at  some  length, 
and  accurately  marking  the  limits  of  the  assertion  I  have 
made.  I  do  not  mean  that  every  dwelling-house  of  mediaeval 
cities  was  as  richly  adorned  and  as  exquisite  in  composition  as 
the  fronts  of  their  cathedrals,  but  that  they  presented  features 
of  the  same  kind,  often  in  parts  quite  as  beautiful ;  and  that 
the  churches  were  not  separated  by  any  change  of  style  from 
the  buildings  round  them,  as  they  are  now,  but  were  merely 
more  finished  and  full  examples  of  a  universal  style,  rising  out 
of  the  confused  streets  of  the  city  as  an  oak  tree  does  out  of 
an  oak  copse,  not  differing  in  leafage,  but  in  size  and  sym- 
metry. Of  course  the  quainter  and  smaller  forms  of  turret 
and  window  necessary  for  domestic  service,  the  inferior  ma- 
terials, often  wood  instead  of  stone,  and  the  fancy  of  the  in- 
habitants, which  had  free  play  in  the  design,  introduced  odd- 
nesses,  vulgarities,  and  variations  into  house  architecture, 
which  were  prevented  by  the  traditions,  the  wealth,  and  the 
skill  of  the  monks  and  freemasons  ;  while,  on  the  other  hand, 
conditions  of  vaulting,  buttressing,  and  arch  and  tower  build 


101 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


ing,  were  necessitated  by  the  mere  size  of  the  cathedral,  of 
which  it  would  be  difficult  to  find  examples  elsewhere.  But 
there  was  nothing  more  in  these  features  than  the  adaptation 
of  mechanical  skill  to  vaster  requirements  ;  there  was  nothing 
intended  to  be,  or  felt  to  be,  especially  ecclesiastical  in  any  of 
the  forms  so  developed  ;  and  the  inhabitants  of  every  village 
and  city,  when  they  furnished  funds  for  the  decoration  of 
their  church,  desired  merely  to  adorn  the  house  of  God  as 
they  adorned  their  own,  only  a  little  more  richly,  and  with  a 
somewhat  graver  temper  in  the  subjects  of  the  carving.  Even 
this  last  difference  is  not  always  clearly  discernible  :  all  man- 
ner of  ribaldry  occurs  in  the  details  of  the  ecclesiastical  build- 
ings of  the  North,  and  at  the  time  when  the  best  of  them  were 
built,  every  man's  house  was  a  kind  of  temple  ;  a  figure  of  the 
Madonna,  or  of  Christ,  almost  always  occupied  a  niche  over 
the  principal  door,  and  the  Old  Testament  histories  were 
curiously  interpolated  amidst  the  grotesques  of  the  brackets 
and  the  gables. 

§  lv.  And  the  reader  will  now  perceive  that  the  question 
respecting  fitness  of  church  decoration  rests  in  reality  on 
totally  different  grounds  from  those  commonly  made  founda- 
tions of  argument.  So  long  as  our  streets  are  walled  with  bar- 
ren brick,  and  our  eyes  rest  continually,  in  our  daily  life,  on 
objects  utterly  ugly,  or  of  inconsistent  and  meaningless  design, 
it  may  be  a  doubtful  question  whether  the  faculties  of  eye 
and  mind  which  are  capable  of  perceiving  beauty,  having  been 
left  without  food  during  the  whole  of  our  active  life,  should 
be  suddenly  feasted  upon  entering  a  place  of  worship  ;  and 
color,  and  music,  and  sculpture  should  delight  the  senses,  and 
stir  the  curiosity  of  men  unaccustomed  to  such  appeal,  at  the 
moment  when  they  are  required  to  compose  themselves  for 
acts  of  devotion  ; — this,  I  say,  may  be  a  doubtful  question  : 
but  it  cannot  be  a  question  at  all,  that  if  once  familiarized 
with  beautiful  form  and  color,  and  accustomed  to  see  in  what- 
ever human  hands  have  executed  for  us,  even  for  the  lowest 
services,  evidence  of  noble  thought  and  admirable  skill,  we 
shall  desire  to  see  this  evidence  also  in  whatever  is  built  or 
labored  for  the  house  of  prayer  ;  that  the  absence  of  the  ao 


ST.  MARK'S. 


105 


customed  loveliness  would  disturb  instead  of  assisting  devo- 
tion ;  and  that  we  should  feel  it  as  vain  to  ask  whether,  with 
our  own  house  full  of  goodly  craftsmanship,  we  should  wor- 
ship God  in  a  house  destitute  of  it,  as  to  ask  whether  a  pilgrim 
whose  day's  journey  had  led  him  through  fair  woods  and  by 
sweet  waters,  must  at  evening  turn  aside  into  some  barren 
place  to  pray. 

§  lvi.  Then  the  second  question  submitted  to  us,  whether 
the  ornament  of  St.  Mark's  be  truly  ecclesiastical  and  Chris- 
tian, is  evidently  determined  together  with  the  first ;  for,  if 
not  only  the  permission  of  ornament  at  all,  but  the  beautiful 
execution  of  it,  be  dependent  on  our  being  familiar  with  it  in 
daily  life,  it  will  folio wr  that  no  style  of  noble  architecture  can 
be  exclusively  ecclesiastical.  It  must  be  practised  in  the  dwell- 
ing before  it  be  perfected  in  the  church,  and  it  is  the  test  of  a 
noble  style  that  it  shall  be  applicable  to  both  ;  for  if  essen- 
tially false  and  ignoble,  it  may  be  made  to  fit  the  dwelling- 
house,  but  never  can  be  made  to  fit  the  church  :  and  just  as 
there  are  many  principles  which  will  bear  the  light  of  the 
world's  opinion,  yet  will  not  bear  the  light  of  God's  word, 
while  all  principles  which  will  bear  the  test  of  Scripture  will 
also  bear  that  of  practice,  so  in  architecture  there  are  many 
forms  which  expediency  and  convenience  may  apparently  jus- 
tify, or  at  least  render  endurable,  in  daily  use,  which  will  yet 
be  found  offensive  the  moment  they  are  used  for  church  service  ; 
but  there  are  none  good  for  church  service,  which  cannot  bear 
daily  use.  Thus  the  Renaissance  manner  of  building  is  a  con- 
venient style  for  dwelling-houses,  but  the  natural  sense  of  ail 
religious  men  causes  them  to  turn  from  it  with  pain  when  it 
has  been  used  in  churches  ;  and  this  has  given  rise  to  the 
popular  idea  that  the  Roman  style  is  good  for  houses  and  the 
Gothic  for  churches.  This  is  not  so  ;  the  Roman  style  is  es- 
sentially base,  and  we  can  bear  with  it  only  so  long  as  it  gives 
us  convenient  windows  and  spacious  rooms  ;  the  moment  the 
question  of  convenience  is  set  aside,  and  the  expression  or 
beauty  of  the  style  is  tried  by  its  being  used  in  a  church,  we 
find  it  fail.  But  because  the  Gothic  and  Byzantine  styles  are 
fit  for  churches  they  are  not  therefore  less  fit  for  dwellings* 


106 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


They  are  in  the  highest  sense  fit  and  good  for  both,  nor  wera 
they  ever  brought  to  perfection  except  where  the}'  were  used 
for  both. 

§  Lvn,  But  there  is  one  character  of  Byzantine  work  which, 
according  to  the  time  at  which  it  was  employed,  may  be  con- 
sidered as  either  fitting  or  unfitting  it  for  distinctly  ecclesias- 
tical purposes  ;  I  mean  the  essentially  pictorial  character  of  its 
decoration.  We  have  already  seen  what  large  surfaces  it 
leaves  void  of  bold  architectural  features,  to  be  rendered 
interesting  merely  by  surface  ornament  or  sculpture.  In  this 
respect  Byzantine  wTork  differs  essentially  from  pure  Gothic 
styles,  which  are  capable  of  filling  every  vacant  space  by  feat- 
ures purely  architectural,  and  may  be  rendered,  if  we  please, 
altogether  independent  of  pictorial  aid.  A  Gothic  church  may 
be  rendered  impressive  by  mere  successions  of  arches,  accumu- 
lations of  niches,  and  entanglements  of  tracery.  But  a  Byzan- 
tine church  requires  expression  and  interesting  decoration 
over  vast  plane  surfaces, — decoration  which  becomes  noble 
only  by  becoming  pictorial ;  that  is  to  say,  by  representing 
natural  objects, — men,  animals,  or  flowers.  And,  therefore, 
the  question  whether  the  Byzantine  style  be  fit  for  church 
service  in  modern  days,  becomes  involved  in  the  inquiry,  what 
effect  upon  religion  has  been  or  may  yet  be  produced  by  pic- 
torial art,  and  especially  by  the  art  of  the  mosaicist  ? 

§  lviii.  The  more  I  have  examined  the  subject  the  more 
dangerous  I  have  found  it  to  dogmatize  respecting  the  charac- 
ter of  the  art  which  is  likely,  at  a  given  period,  to  be  most 
useful  to  the  cause  of  religion.  One  great  fact  first  meets  me. 
I  cannot  answer  for  the  experience  of  others,  but  I  never  yet 
met  with  a  Christian  whose  heart  was  thoroughly  set  upon  the 
world  to  come,  and,  so  far  as  human  judgment  could  pro- 
nounce, perfect  and  right  before  God,  wrho  cared  about  art  at 
ail.  I  have  known  several  very  noble  Christian  men  w7ho  loved 
it  intensely,  but  in  them  there  was  always  traceable  some  en- 
tanglement of  the  thoughts  with  the  matters  of  this  world, 
causing  them  to  fall  into  strange  distresses  and  doubts,  and 
often  leading  them  into  what  they  themselves  would  confess  to 
be  errors  in  understanding,  or  even  failures  in  duty.   I  do  not 


ST.  MARK'S. 


107 


say  that  these  men  may  not,  many  of  them,  be  in  very  deed 
nobler  than  those  whose  conduct  is  more  consistent ;  they  may 
be  more  tender  in  the  tone  of  all  their  feelings,  and  farther- 
sighted  in  soul,  and  for  that  very  reason  exposed  to  greater 
trials  and  fears,  than  those  whose  hardier  frame  and  naturally 
narrower  vision  enable  them  with  less  effort  to  give  their 
hands  to  God  and  walk  with  Him.  But  still,  the  general  fact 
is  indeed  so,  that  I  have  never  known  a  man  who  seemed  alto- 
gether right  and  calm  in  faith,  who  seriously  cared  about  art ; 
and  when  casually  moved  by  it,  it  is  quite  impossible  to  say 
beforehand  by  what  class  of  art  this  impression  will  on  such 
men  be  made.  Very  often  it  is  by  a  theatrical  commonplace, 
more  frequently  still  by  false  sentiment.  I  believe  that  the 
four  painters  who  have  had,  and  still  have,  the  most  influence, 
such  as  it  is,  on  the  ordinary  Protestant  Christian  mind,  are 
Carlo  Dolci,  Guercino,  Benjamin  West,  and  John  Martin. 
Raphael,  much  as  he  is  talked  about,  is,  I  believe  in  very  fact, 
rarely  looked  at  by  religious  people  ;  much  less  his  master,  or 
any  of  the  truly  great  religious  men  of  old.  But  a  smooth 
Magdalen  of  Carlo  Dolci  with  a  tear  on  each  cheek,  or  a  Guer- 
cino Christ  or  St.  John,  or  a  Scripture  illustration  of  West's, 
or  a  black  cloud  with  a  flash  of  lightning  in  it  of  Martin's, 
rarely  fails  of  being  verily,  often  deeply,  felt  for  the  time. 

§  ltx.  There  are  indeed  many  very  evident  reasons  for  this  ; 
the  chief  one  being  that,  as  all  truly  great  religious  painters 
have  been  hearty  Romanists,  there  are  none  of  their  works 
which  do  not  embody,  in  some  portions  of  them,  definitely 
Bomanist  doctrines.  The  Protestant  mind  is  instantly  struck 
by  these,  and  offended  by  them,  so  as  to  be  incapable  of  enter- 
ing, or  at  least  rendered  indisposed  to  enter,  farther  into  the 
heart  of  the  work,  or  to  the  discovering  those  deeper  charac- 
ters of  it,  which  are  not  Bomanist,  but  Christian,  in  the  ever- 
lasting sense  and  power  of  Christianity.  Thus  most  Protes- 
tants, entering  for  the  first  time  a  Paradise  of  Angelico,  would 
be  irrevocably  offended  by  finding  that  the  first  person  the 
painter  wished  them  to  speak  to  was  St.  Dominic  ;  and  would 
retire  from  such  a  heaven  as  speedily  as  possible, — not  giving 
themselves  time  to  discover,  that  whether  dressed  in  black,  or 


108 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


white,  or  grey,  and  by  whatever  name  in  the  calendar  they 

might  be  called,  the  figures  that  filled  that  Angelico  heaven 
were  indeed  more  saintly,  and  pure,  and  full  of  love  in  every 
feature,  than  any  that  the  human  hand  ever  traced  before  or 
since.  And  thus  Protestantism,  having  foolishly  sought  for 
the  little  help  it  requires  at  the  hand  of  painting  from  the 
men  who  embodied  no  Catholic  doctrine,  has  been  reduced  to 
receive  it  from  those  who  believed  neither  Catholicism  nor 
Protestantism,  but  who  read  the  Bible  in  search  of  the  pict- 
uresque. We  thus  refuse  to  regard  the  painters  who  passed 
their  lives  in  prayer,  but  are  perfectly  ready  to  be  taught  by 
those  who  spent  them  in  debauchery.  There  is  perhaps  no 
more  popular  Protestant  picture  than  Salvator's  "Witch  of 
Endor,"  of  which  the  subject  was  chosen  by  the  painter  simply 
because,  under  the  names  of  Saul  and  the  Sorceress,  he  could 
paint  a  captain  of  banditti,  and  a  Neapolitan  hag. 

§  lx.  The  fact  seems  to  be  that  strength  of  religious  feel- 
ing is  capable  of  supplying  for  itself  whatever  is  wanting  in 
the  rudest  suggestions  of  art,  and  will  either,  on  the  one  hand, 
purify  what  is  coarse  into  inoffensiveness,  or,  on  the  other, 
raise  what  is  feeble  into  impressiveness.  Probably  all  art,  as 
such,  is  unsatisfactory  to  it ;  and  the  effort  which  it  makes  to 
supply  the  void  will  be  induced  rather  by  association  and  acci- 
dent than  by  the  real  merit  of  the  work  submitted  to  it.  The 
likeness  to  a  beloved  friend,  the  correspondence  with  a  ha- 
bitual conception,  the  freedom  from  any  strange  or  offensive 
particularity,  and,  above  all,  an  interesting  choice  of  incident, 
will  win  admiration  for  a  picture  when  the  noblest  efforts  of 
religious  imagination  would  otherwise  fail  of  power.  How 
much  more,  when  to  the  quick  capacity  of  emotion  is  joined 
a  childish  trust  that  the  picture  does  indeed  represent  a  fact ! 
It  matters  little  whether  the  fact  be  well  or  ill  told ;  the 
moment  we  believe  the  picture  to  be  true,  we  complain  little 
of  its  being  ill-painted.  Let  it  be  considered  for  a  moment, 
whether  the  child,  with  its  colored  print,  inquiring  eagerly 
and  gravely  which  is  Joseph,  and  which  is  Benjamin,  is  not 
more  capable  of  receiving  a  strong,  even  a  sublime,  impression 
from  the  rude  symbol  which  it  invests  with  reality  by  its  owa 


8T.  MARK'S. 


109 


effort,  than  the  connoisseur  who  admires  the  grouping-  of  the 
three  figures  in  Raphael's  "  Telling  of  the  Dreams  ;  "  and 
whether  also,  when'  the  human  mind  is  in  right  religious  tone, 
it  has  not  always  this  childish  power — I  speak  advisedly,  this 
power — a  noble  one,  and  possessed  more  in  youth  than  at  any 
period  of  after  life,  but  always,  I  think,  restored  in  a  measure 
by  religion— of  raising  into  sublimity  and  reality  the  rudest 
symbol  which  is  given  to  it  of  accredited  truth. 

§  lxi.  Ever  since  the  period  of  the  Renaissance,  however, 
the  truth  has  not  been  accredited  ;  the  painter  of  religious 
subject  is  no  longer  regarded  as  the  narrator  of  a  fact,  but  as 
the  inventor  of  an  idea.*  We  do  not  severely  criticise  the 
manner  in  which  a  true  history  is  told,  but  we  become  harsh 
investigators  of  the  faults  of  an  invention ;  so  that  in  the  mod- 
ern religious  mind,  the  capacity  of  emotion,  which  renders 
judgment  uncertain,  is  joined  with  an  incredulity  which  ren- 
ders it  severe  ;  and  this  ignorant  emotion,  joined  with  igno- 
rant observance  of  faults,  is  the  worst  possible  temper  in  which 
an}r  art  can  be  regarded,  but  more  especially  sacred  art.  For 
as  religious  faith  renders  emotion  facile,  so  also  it  generally 
renders  expression  simple  ;  that  is  to  say  a  truly  religious 
painter  will  very  often  be  ruder,  quainter,  simpler,  and  more 
faulty  in  his  manner  of  working,  than  a  great  irreligious  one. 
And  it  was  in  this  artless  utterance,  and  simple  acceptance,  on 
the  part  of  both  the  workman  and  the  beholder,  that  all  noble 
schools  of  art  have  been  cradled  ;  it  is  in  them  that  they  m  ust 
be  cradled  to  the  end  of  time.    It  is  impossible  to  calculate 

*  I  do  not  mean  that  modern  Christians  believe  less  in  the  facts  than 
ancient  Christians,  but  they  do  not  believe  in  the  representation  of  the 
facts  as  true.  We  look  upon  the  picture  as  this  or  that  painter's  concept 
tion  ;  the  elder  Christians  looked  upon  it  as  this  or  that  painter's  de- 
scription of  what  had  actually  taken  place.  And  in  the  Greek  Church 
all  painting  is,  to  this  day,  strictly  a  branch  of  tradition.  See  M.  Dide- 
ron  s  admirably  written  introduction  to  his  Iconographie  Chretienne,  p. 
7 : — k<  Un  de  mes  compagnons  s'etonnait  de  retrouver  a  la  Panagia  de  St. 
Luc,  le  saint  Jean  Chrysostome  qu'il  avait  dessine  dans  le  baptistere  de 
St.  Marc,  a  Venise.  Le  costume  des  personnages  est  partout  et  en  tout 
temps  le  meme,  non-seulement  pour  la  forme,  mais  pour  la  couleur, 
mais  pour  le  dessin,  mais  jusque  pour  le  nombre  et  P^naisseur  des  plist" 


110 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


the  enormous  loss  of  power  in  modern  days,  owing  to  the  im* 
perative  requirement  that  art  shall  be  methodical  and  learned  : 
for  as  long  as  the  constitution  of  this  world  remains  unaltered, 
there  will  be  more  intellect  in  it  than  there  can  be  educa^on  ; 
there  will  be  many  men  capable  of  just  sensation  and  vivid  in- 
vention, who  never  will  have  time  to  cultivate  or  polish  their 
natural  powers.  And  all  unpolished  power  is  in  the  present 
state  of  society  lost ;  in  other  things  as  well  as  in  the  arts,  but 
in  the  arts  especially :  nay,  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  people 
mistake  the  polish  for  the  power.  Until  a  man  has  passed 
through  a  course  of  academy  studentship,  and  can  draw  in  an 
approved  manner  with  French  chalk,  and  knows  foreshorten- 
ing, and  perspective,  and  something  of  anatomy,  w7e  do  not 
think  he  can  possibly  be  an  artist ;  what  is  worse,  we  are  very 
apt  to  think  that  we  can  make  him  an  artist  by  teaching  him 
anatomy,  and  how  to  draw  with  French  chalk  ;  whereas  the 
real  gift  in  him  is  utterly  independent  of  all  such  accomplish- 
ments  :  and  I  believe  there  are  many  peasants  on  every  estate, 
and  laborers  in  every  town,  of  Europe,  who  have  imaginative 
powers  of  a  high  order,  which  nevertheless  cannot  be  used  for 
our  good,  because  Ave  do  not  choose  to  look  at  anything  but 
what  is  expressed  in  a  legal  and  scientific  way.  I  believe  there 
is  many  a  village  mason  who,  set  to  carve  a  series  of  Scripture 
or  any  other  histories,  would  find  many  a  strange  and  noble 
fancy  in  his  head,  and  set  it  dowrn,  roughly  enough  indeed, 
but  in  a  way  well  worth  our  having.  But  we  are  too  grand  to 
let  him  do  this,  or  to  set  up  his  clumsy  work  when  it  is  done  ; 
and  accordingly  the  poor  stone-mason  is  kept  hewing  stones 
smooth  at  the  corners,  and  we  build  our  church  of  the  smooth 
square  stones,  and  consider  ourselves  wise. 

§  lxii.  I  shall  pursue  this  subject  farther  in  another  place  ; 
but  I  allude  to  it  here  in  order  to  meet  the  objections  of  those 
persons  wrho  suppose  the  mosaics  of  St.  Mark's,  and  others  of 
the  period,  to  be  utterly  barbarous  as  representations  of  re- 
ligious history.  Let  it  be  granted  that  they  are  so  ;  we  are  not 
for  that  reason  to  suppose  they  were  ineffective  in  religious 
teaching.  I  have  above  spoken  of  the  whole  church  as  a  great 
Book  of  Common  Prayer  ;  the  mosaics  were  its  illuminationa 


ST.  MARK'S. 


in 


and  the  common  people  of  the  time  were  taught  their  Script- 
ure history  by  means  of  them,  more  impressively  perhaps, 
though  far  less  fully,  than  ours  are  now  by  Scripture  reading. 
They  had  no  other  Bible,  and — Protestants  do  not  often  enough 
consider  this — could  have  no  other.  We  find  it  somewhat  dif- 
ficult to  furnish  our  poor  with  printed  Bibles  ;  consider  what 
the  difficulty  must  have  been  when  they  could  be  given  only 
in  manuscript.  The  walls  of  the  church  necessarily  became 
the  poor  man's  Bible,  and  a  picture  was  more  easily  read  upon 
the  walls  than  a  chapter.  Under  this  view,  and  considering 
them  merely  as  the  Bible  pictures  of  a  great  nation  in  its 
youth,  I  shall  finally  invite  the  reader  to  examine  the  connex- 
ion and  subjects  of  these  mosaics  ;  but  in  the  meantime  I 
have  to  deprecate  the  idea  of  their  execution  being  in  any 
sense  barbarous.  I  have  conceded  too  much  to  modern  preju- 
dice, in  permitting  them  to  be  rated  as  mere  childish  efforts  at 
colored  portraiture :  they  have  characters  in  them  of  a  very 
noble  kind  ;  nor  are  they  by  any  means  devoid  of  the  remains 
of  the  science  of  the  later  Roman  empire.  The  character  of 
the  features  is  almost  always  fine,  the  expression  stern  and 
quiet,  and  very  solemn,  the  attitudes  and  draperies  always  ma- 
jestic in  the  single  figures,  and  in  those  of  the  groups  which 
are  not  in  violent  action  ;*  while  the  bright  coloring  and  disre- 
gard of  chiaroscuro  cannot  be  regarded  as  imperfections,  since 
they  are  the  only  means  by  which  the  figures  could  be  ren- 
dered clearly  intelligible  in  the  distance  and  darkness  of  the 
vaulting.  So  far  am  I  from  considering  them  barbarous,  that 
I  believe  of  all  works  of  religious  art  whatsoever,  these,  and 
such  as  these,  have  been  the  most  effective.  They  stand  ex- 
actly midway  between  the  debased  manufacture  of  wTooden  and 
waxen  images  which  is  the  support  of  Romanist  idolatry  all 

*  All  tlie  effects  of  Byzantine  art  to  represent  violent  action  are  inade- 
quate, most  of  them  ludicrously  so,  even  when  the  scuptural  art  is  m  other 
respects  far  advanced.  The  early  Gothic  sculptors,  on  the  other  hand, 
fail  in  all  points  of  refinement,  but  hardly  ever  in  expression  of  action. 
This  distinction  is  of  course  one  of  the  necessary  consequences  of  the 
difference  in  all  respects  between  the  repose  of  the  Eastern,  and  activity 
of  the  Western,  mind,  which  we  £hall  have  to  trace  out  completely  iD, 
the  inquiry  into  the  nature  of  Gothic, 


112 


THE  STOKES  OF  VENICE. 


over  the  world,  and  the  great  art  which  leads  the  mind  away 
from  the  religious  subject  to  the  art  itself.  Respecting  neither 
of  these  branches  of  human  skill  is  there,  nor  can  there  be,  any 
question.  The  manufacture  of  puppets,  however  influential  on 
the  Romanist  mind  of  Europe,  is  certainly  not  deserving  of 
consideration  as  one  of  the  fine  arts.  It  matters  literally  noth- 
ing to  a  Romanist  what  the  image  he  worships  is  like.  Take 
the  vilest  doll  that  is  screwed  together  in  a  cheap  toy-shop, 
trust  it  to  the  keeping  of  a  large  family  of  children,  let  it  be 
beaten  about  the  house  by  them  till  it  is  reduced  to  a  shapeless 
block,  then  dress  it  in  a  satin  frock  and  declare  it  to  have  fallen 
from  heaven,  and  it  will  satisfactorily  answer  all  Romanist  pur- 
poses. Idolatry,*  it  cannot  be  too  often  repeated,  is  no  en- 
courager  of  the  fine  arts.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  the  highest 
branches  of  the  fine  arts  are  no  encouragers  either  of  idolatry 
or  of  religion.  No  picture  of  Leonardo's  or  Raphael's,  no 
statue  of  Michael  Angelo's,  has  ever  been  worshipped,  except 
by  accident.  Carelessly  regarded,  and  by  ignorant  persons, 
there  is  less  to  attract  in  them  than  in  commoner  works.  Care- 
fully  regarded,  and  by  intelligent  persons,  they  instantly  divert 
the  mind  from  their  subject  to  their  art,  so  that  admiration 
takes  the  place  of  devotion.  I  do  not  say  that  the  Madonna  d; 
S.  Sisto,  the  Madonna  del  Cardellino,  and  such  others,  have  not 
had  considerable  religious  influence  on  certain  minds,  but  I  say 
that  on  the  mass  of  the  people  of  Europe  they  have  had  none 
whatever  ;  while  by  far  the  greater  number  of  the  most  cele- 
brated statues  and  pictures  are  never  regarded  with  any  other 
feelings  than  those  of  admiration  of  human  beauty,  or  rever- 
ence for  human  skill.  Effective  religious  art,  therefore,  has 
always  lain,  and  I  believe  must  always  lie,  between  the  two  ex- 
tremes— of  barbarous  idol- fashioning  on  one  side,  and  magnif- 
icent craftsmanship  on  the  other.  It  consists  partly  in  missal 
painting,  and  such  book-illustrations  as,  since  the  invention 
of  printing,  have  taken  its  place  ;  partly  in  glass-painting ; 
partly  in  rude  sculpture  on  the  outsides  of  buildings  ;  partly 
in  mosaics  ;  and  partly  in  the  frescoes  and  tempera  pictures 


*  Appendix  10,  "  Proper  Sense  of  the  word  Idolatry/' 


ST.  MARK'S. 


U3 


wirich,  in  the  fourteenth  century,  formed  the  link  between  this 
powerful,  because  imperfect,  religious  art,  and  the  impotent 
perfection  which  succeeded  it. 

§  lxiii.  But  of  all  these  branches  the  most  important  are 
the  inlaying  and  mosaic  of  the  twelfth  and  thirteenth  centuries, 
represented  in  a  central  manner  by  these  mosaics  of  St.  Mark's. 
Missal-painting  could  not,  from  its  minuteness,  produce  the 
same  sublime  impressions,  and  frequently  merged  itself  in  mere 
ornamentation  of  the  page.  Modern  book-illustration  has  been 
so  little  skilful  as  hardly  to  be  worth  naming.  Sculpture, 
though  in  some  positions  it  becomes  of  great  importance,  has 
always  a  tendency  to  lose  itself  in  architectural  effect ;  and 
was  probably  seldom  deciphered,  in  all  its  parts,  by  the  com- 
mon people,  still  less  the  traditions  annealed  in  the  purple 
burning  of  the  painted  window.  Finally,  tempera  pictures 
and  frescoes  were  often  of  limited  size  or  of  feeble  color.  But 
the  great  mosaics  of  the  twelfth  and  thirteenth  centuries  cov- 
ered the  walls  and  roofs  of  the  churches  with  inevitable  lustre ; 
they  could  not  be  ignored  or  escaped  from  ;  their  size  rendered 
them  majestic,  their  distance  mysterious,  their  color  attractive. 
They  did  not  pass  into  confused  or  inferior  decorations ;  neither 
were  they  adorned  with  any  evidences  of  skill  or  science,  such 
as  might  withdraw  the  attention  from  their  subjects.  They 
were  before  the  e}res  of  the  devotee  at  every  interval  of  his 
worship  ;  vast  shadowings  forth  of  scenes  to  whose  realization 
he  looked  forward,  or  of  spirits  whose  presence  he  invoked. 
And  the  man  must  be  little  capable  of  receiving  a  religious 
impression  of  any  kind,  who,  to  this  day,  does  not  acknowledge 
some  feeling  of  awe,  as  he  looks  up  at  the  pale  countenances 
and  ghastly  forms  which  haunt  the  dark  roofs  of  the  Bap- 
tisteries of  Parma  and  Florence,  or  remains  altogether  un- 
touched by  the  majesty  of  the  colossal  images  of  apostles,  and 
of  Him  who  sent  apostles,  that  look  down  from  the  darkening 
gold  of  the  domes  of  Venice  and  Pisa. 

§  lxiv.  I  shall,  in  a  future  portion  of  this  work,  endeavor  to 
discover  what  probabilities  there  are  of  our  being  able  to  use 
this  kind  of  art  in  modern  churches  ;  but  at  present  it  re- 
mains for  us  to  follow  out  the  connexion  of  the  subjects  rep-1 
Vol.  II.— 8 


114 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


resented  in  St.  Mark's  so  as  to  fulfil  our  immediate  object, 
and  form  an  adequate  conception  of  the  feelings  of  its  build- 
ers, and  of  its  uses  to  those  for  whom  it  was  built. 

Now  there  is  one  circumstance  to  which  I  must,  in  the  out- 
set, direct  the  reader's  special  attention,  as  forming  a  notable 
distinction  between  ancient  and  modern  days.  Our  eyes  are 
now  familiar  and  wearied  with  writing  ;  and  if  an  inscription 
is  put  upon  a  building,  unless  it  be  large  and  clear,  it  is  ten 
to  one  whether  we  ever  trouble  ourselves  to  decipher  it.  But 
the  old  architect  was  sure  of  readers.  He  knew  that  every 
one  would  be  glad  to  decipher  all  that  he  wrote  ;  that  they 
would  rejoice  in  possessing  the  vaulted  leaves  of  his  stone 
manuscript ;  and  that  the  more  he  gave  them,  the  more  grate- 
ful would  the  people  be.  "We  must  take  some  pains,  there- 
fore, when  we  enter  St.  Mark's,  to  read  all  that  is  inscribed, 
or  we  shall  not  penetrate  into  the  feeling  either  of  the  builder 
or  of  his  times. 

§  lxv.  A  large  atrium  or  portico  is  attached  to  two  sides  of 
the  church,  a  space  which  was  especially  reserved  for  unbap- 
tized  persons  and  new  converts.  It  was  thought  right  that, 
before  their  baptism,  these  persons  should  be  led  to  contem- 
plate the  great  facts  of  the  Old  Testament  history  ;  the  his- 
tory of  the  Fall  of  Man,  and  of  the  lives  of  Patriarchs  up  to 
the  period  of  the  Covenant  by  Moses  :  the  order  of  the  sub- 
jects in  this  series  being  very  nearly  the  same  as  in  many 
Northern  churches,  but  significantly  closing  with  the  Fall  of 
the  Manna,  in  order  to  mark  to  the  catechumen  the  insuffi- 
ciency of  the  Mosaic  covenant  for  salvation, — "Our  fathers  did 
eat  manna  in  the  wilderness,  and  are  dead," — and  to  turn 
his  thoughts  to  the  true  Bread  of  which  that  manna  was  the 
type. 

§  lxvi.  Then,  when  after  his  baptism  he  was  permitted  to 
enter  the  church,  over  its  main  entrance  he  saw,  on  looking 
back,  a  mosaic  of  Christ  enthroned,  with  the  Virgin  on  one 
side  and  St.  Mark  on  the  other,  in  attitudes  of  adoration.  Christ 
is  represented  as  holding  a  book  open  upon  his  knee,  on  which 
is  written:  "I  am  the  door;  by  me  if  any  man  enter  in,  ve 
Ishall  be  saved."    On  the  red  marble  moulding  which  sur- 


ST,  MA  UK'S. 


115 


rounds  the  mosaic  is  written  :  "I  am  the  gate  of  lite  ;  Let 
those  who  are  mine  enter  by  me."  Above,  on  the  red  marble 
fillet  which  forms  the  cornice  of  the  west  end  of  the  church, 
is  written,  with  reference  to  the  figure  of  Christ  below  :  "  Who 
he  was,  and  from  whom  he  came,  and  at  what  price  he  re- 
deemed THEE,  AND  WHY  HE  MADE  THEE,  AND  GAVE  THEE  ALL  THINGS, 
DO  THOU  CONSIDER." 

Now  observe,  this  was  not  to  be  seen  and  read  only  by  the 
catechumen  when  he  first  entered  the  church  ;  every  one  who 
at  any  time  entered,  was  supposed  to  look  back  and  to  read 
this  writing ;  their  daily  entrance  into  the  church  was  thus 
made  a  daily  memorial  of  their  first  entrance  into  the  spiritual 
Church  ;  and  we  shall  find  that  the  rest  of  the  book  which 
was  opened  for  them  upon  its  walls  continually  led  them  in 
the  same  manner  to  regard  the  visible  temple  as  in  every  part 
a  type  of  the  invisible  Church  of  God. 

§  lxvii.  Therefore  the  mosaic  of  the  first  dome,  which  is 
over  the  head  of  the  spectator  as  soon  as  he  has  entered  by 
the  great  door  (that  door  being  the  type  of  baptism),  repre- 
sents the  effusion  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  as  the  first  consequence 
and  seal  of  the  entrance  into  the  Church  of  God.  In  the 
centre  of  the  cupola  is  the  Dove,  enthroned  in  the  Greek  man- 
ner, as  the  Lamb  is  enthroned,  when  the  Divinity  of  the 
Second  and  Third  Persons  is  to  be  insisted  upon  together 
with  their  peculiar  offices.  From  the  central  symbol  of  the 
Holy  Spirit  twelve  streams  of  fire  descend  upon  the  heads  of 
the  twelve  apostles,  who  are  represented  standing  around  the 
dome  ;  and  below  them,  between  the  windows  which  are 
pierced  in  its  walls,  are  represented,  by  groups  of  two  figures 
for  each  separate  people,  the  various  nations  who  heard  the 
apostles  speak,  at  Pentecost,  every  man  in  his  own  tongue. 
Finally,  on  the  vaults,  at  the  four  angles  which  support  the 
cupola,  are  pictured  four  angels,  each  bearing  a  tablet  upon 
the  end  of  a  rod  in  his  hand  :  on  each  of  the  tablets  of  the 
three  first  angels  is  inscribed  the  word  4 £  Holy  ;  "  on  that  of 
the  fourth  is  written  "  Lord  ;  "  and  the  beginning  of  the  hymn 
being  thus  put  into  the  mouths  of  the  four  angels,  the  words 
of  it  are  continued  around  the  border  of  the  dome,  uniting 


no 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


praise  to  God  for  the  gift  of  the  Spirit,  with  welcome  to  the 
redeemed  soul  received  into  His  Church  : 

"  Holy,  Holy,  Holy,  Lord  God  of  Sabaoth  : 
Heaven  and  Earth  are  full  of  thy  Glory, 
ho  s  ann  a  in  the  highest  i 
Blessed  is  he  that  cometh  in  the  name  of  the  Lord." 

And  observe  in  this  writing  that  the  convert  is  required  to 
regard  the  outpouring  of  the  Holy  Spirit  especially  as  a  work 
of  sanctificatioiK  It  is  the  holiness  of  God  manifested  in  the 
giving  of  His  Spirit  to  sanctify  those  who  had  become  His 
children,  which  the  four  angels  celebrate  in  their  ceaseless 
praise  ;  and  it  is  on  account  of  this  holiness  that  the  heaven 
and  earth  are  said  to  be  full  of  His  glory. 

§  lxviii.  After  thus  hearing  praise  rendered  to  God  by  the 
angels  for  the  salvation  of  the  newly-entered  soul,  it  was 
thought  fittest  that  the  worshipper  should  be  led  to  contem- 
plate, in  the  most  comprehensive  forms  possible,  the  past  evi- 
dence and  the  future  hopes  of  Christianity,  as  summed  up 
in  three  facts  without  assurance  of  which  all  faith  is  vain  ; 
namely  that  Christ  died,  that  He  rose  again,  and  that  He  as- 
cended into  heaven,  there  to  prepare  a  place  for  His  elect. 
On  the  vault  between  the  first  and  second  cupolas  are  repre- 
sented the  crucifixion  and  resurrection  of  Christ,  with  the 
usual  series  of  intermediate  scenes, — the  treason  of  Judas,  the 
judgment  of  Pilate,  the  crowning  with  thorns,  the  descent  into 
Hades,  the  visit  of  the  women  to  the  sepulchre,  and  the  appa- 
rition to  Mary  Magdalene.  The  second  cupola  itself,  which  is 
the  central  and  principal  one  of  the  church,  is  entirely  occu- 
pied by  the  subject  of  the  Ascension.  At  the  highest  point  of 
it  Christ  is  represented  as  rising  into  the  blue  heaven,  borne 
up  by  four  angels,  and  throned  upon  a  rainbow,  the  type  of 
reconciliation.  Beneath  him,  the  twelve  apostles  are  seen 
upon  the  Mount  of  Olives,  with  the  Madonna,  and,  in  the 
midst  of  them,  the  two  men  in  white  apparel  who  appeared  at 
the  moment  of  the  Ascension,  above  whom,  as  uttered  by  them, 
are  inscribed  the  words,  "  Ye  men  of  Galilee,  why  stand  ye 


ST.  MARK'S. 


117 


gazing  up  into  heaven  ?  This  Christ,  the  Son  of  God,  as  He 
is  taken  from  you,  shall  so  come,  the  arbiter  of  the  earth, 
trusted  to  do  judgment  and  justice.''' 

§  lxix.  Beneath  the  circle  of  the  apostles,  between  the  win- 
dows of  the  cupola,  are  represented  the  Christian  virtues,  as 
sequent  upon  the  crucifixion  of  the  flesh,  and  the  spiritual  as- 
cension together  with  Christ.  Beneath  them,  on  the  vaults 
which  support  the  angles  of  the  cupola,  are  placed  the  four 
Evangelists,  because  on  their  evidence  our  assurance  of  the 
fact  of  the  ascension  rests  ;  and,  finally,  beneath  their  feet,  as 
symbols  of  the  sweetness  and  fulness  of  the  Gospel  which  they 
declared,  are  represented  the  four  rivers  of  Paradise,  Pison, 
Gihon,  Tigris,  and  Euphrates. 

§  lxx.  The  third  cupola,  that  over  the  altar,  represents  the 
witness  of  the  Old  Testament  to  Christ ;  showing  him  en- 
throned in  its  centre,  and  surrounded  by  the  patriarchs  and 
prophets.  But  this  dome  was  little  seen  by  the  people  ;  f. 
their  contemplation  was  intended  to  be  chiefly  drawn  to  that 
of  the  centre  of  the  church,  and  thus  the  mind  of  the  wor- 
shipper was  at  once  fixed  on  the  main  groundwork  and  hope 
of  Christianity, — "  Christ  is  risen,"  and  "  Christ  shall  come." 
If  he  had  time  to  explore  the  minor  lateral  chapels  and  cupo- 
las, he  could  find  in  them  the  whole  series  of  New  Testament 
history,  the  events  of.  the  Life  of  Christ,  and  the  Apostolic 
miracles  in  their  order,  and  finally  the  scenery  of  the  Book  of 
Revelation  ;  f  but  if  he  only  entered,  as  often  the  common 
people  do  to  this  hour,  snatching  a  few  moments  before  be- 
ginning the  labor  of  the  day  to  offer  up  an  ejaculatory  prayer, 
and  advanced  but  from  the  main  entrance  as  far  as  the  altar 
screen,  all  the  splendor  of  the  glittering  nave  and  variegated 
dome,  if  they  smote  upon  his  heart,  as  they  might  often,  in 
strange  contrast  with  his  reed  cabin  among  the  shallows  of 
the  lagoon,  smote  upon  it  only  that  they  might  proclaim  the 
two  great  messages — "  Christ  is  risen,"  and  "  Christ  shall 

*  It  is  also  of  inferior  workmanship,  and  perhaps  later  than  the  rest. 
Vide  Lord  Lindsay,  vol.  i.  p.  124,  note. 

f  The  old  mosaics  from  the  Revelation  have  perished,  and  have  been 
replaced  by  miserable  work  of  the  seventeenth  century- 


118 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


come."  Daily,  as  the  white  cupolas  rose  like  wreaths  of  sea 
foam  in  the  dawn,  while  the  shadowy  campanile  and  frowning 
palace  were  still  withdrawn  into  the  night,  they  rose  with  the 
Easter  Voice  of  Triumph, — "  Christ  is  risen  ;  "  and  daily,  as 
they  looked  down  upon  the  tumult  of  the  people,  deepening 
and  eddying  in  the  wide  square  that  opened  from  their  feet 
to  the  sea,  they  uttered  above  them  the  sentence  of  warning, 
— "  Christ  shall  come." 

§  lxxi.  And  this  thought  may  surely  dispose  the  reader  to 
look  with  some  change  of  temper  upon  the  gorgeous  building 
and  wild  blazonry  of  that  shrine  of  St.  Mark's.    He  now  per- 
ceives that  it  was  in  the  hearts  of  the  old  Venetian  people  far 
more  than  a  place  of  worship.    It  was  at  once  a  type  of  the 
Redeemed  Church  of  God,  and  a  scroll  for  the  written  word  of 
God.    It  was  to  be  to  them,  both  an  image  of  the  Bride,  all 
glorious  within,  her  clothing  of  wrought  gold  ;  and  the  actual 
Table  of  the  Law  and  the  Testimony,  written  within  and  with- 
out.   And  whether  honored  as  the  Church  or  as  the  Bible,  was 
it  not  fitting  that  neither  the  gold  nor  the  crystal  should  be 
spared  in  the  adornment  of  it ;  that,  as  the  symbol  of  the 
Bride,  the  building  of  the  wall  thereof  should  be  of  jasper,* 
and  the  foundations  of  it  garnished  with  all  manner  of  pre- 
cious stones  ;  and  that,  as  the  channel  of  the  "World,  that  tri- 
umphant utterance  of  the  Psalmist  should  be  true  of  it, — "  I 
have  rejoiced  in  the  way  of  thy  testimonies,  as  much  as  in  all 
riches  ?  "    And  shall  we  not  look  with  changed  temper  down 
'he  long  perspective  of  St.  Mark's  Place  towards  the  sevenfold 
s  and  glowing  domes  of  its  temple,  when  we  know  with 
Temn  purpose  the  shafts  of  it  were  lifted  above  the  pave- 
<\  populous  square  ?    Men  met  there  from  all  coun- 
arth,  for  traffic  or  for  pleasure ;  but,  above  the 
ever  to  and  fro  in  the  restlessness  of  ava- 
i  ^ht,  was  seen  perpetually  the  glory  of  the 
whether  they  would  hear  or  whether 
chere  was  one  treasure  which  the 
'^lout  a  price,  and  one  delight 
^d  and  the  statutes  of  God, 


ST.  MARK'S. 


H9 


Not  in  the  wantonness  of  wealth,  not  in  vain  ministry  to  the 
desire  of  the  eyes  or  the  pride  of  life,  were  those  marbles  hewn 
into  transparent  strength,  and  those  arches  arrayed  in  the 
colors  of  the  iris.  There  is  a  message  written  in  the  d}^es  of 
them,  that  once  was  written  in  blood  ;  and  a  sound  in  the 
echoes  of  their  vaults,  that  one  day  shall  fill  the  vault  of  heaven, 
— "  He  shall  return,  to  do  judgment  and  justice."  The  strength 
of  Venice  was  given  her,  so  long  as  she  remembered  this  :  her 
destruction  found  her  when  she  had  forgotten  this ;  and  it 
found  her  irrevocably,  because  she  forgot  it  without  excuse. 
Never  had  city  a  more  glorious  Bible.  Among  the  nations  of 
the  North,  a  rude  and  shadowy  sculpture  filled  their  temples 
with  confused  and  hardly  legible  imagery  ;  but,  for  her,  the 
skill  and  the  treasures  of  the  East  had  gilded  eveiw  letter, 
and  illumined  every  page,  till  the  Book-Temple  shone  from 
afar  off  like  the  star  of  the  Magi.  In  other  cities,  the  meetings 
of  the  people  were  often  in  places  withdrawn  from  religious 
association,  subject  to  violence  and  to  change  ;  and  on  the 
grass  of  the  dangerous  rampart,  and  in  the  dust  of  the 
troubled  street,  there  were  deeds  done  and  counsels  taken, 
which,  if  we  cannot  justify,  we  may  sometimes  forgive.  But 
the  sins  of  Venice,  whether  in  her  palace  or  in  her  piazza, 
were  done  with  the  Bible  at  her  right  hand.  The  walls  on  which 
its  testimony  was  written  were  separated  but  by  a  few  inches 
of  marble  from  those  which  guarded  the  secrets  of  her  coun- 
cils, or  confined  t  he  victims  of  her  policy.  And  when  in  her  last 
hours  she  threw  off  all  shame  and  all  restraint,  and  the  great 
square  of  the  city  became  filled  with  the  madness  of  the  whole 
earth,  be  it  remembered  how  much  her  sin  was  greater,  be- 
cause it  was  done  in  the  face  of  the  House  of  God,  burning 
with  the  letters  of  His  Law.  Mountebank  and  masquer 
laughed  their  laugh,  and  went  their  way  ;  and  a  silence  has 
followed  them,  not  unforetold  ;  for  amidst  them  all,  through 
century  after  century  of  gathering  vanity  and  festering  guilt, 
that  white  dome  of  St.  Mark's  had  uttered  in  the  dead  ear  of 
Venice,  "Know  thou,  that  for  all  these  things  God  will  bring 
thee  into  judgment." 


120 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


CHAPTER  V. 

BYZANTINE  PALACES. 

§  L  The  account  of  the  architecture  of  St.  Mark's  given  in 
the  previous  chapter  has,  I  trust,  acquainted  the  reader  suffi- 
ciently with  the  spirit  of  the  Byzantine  style  :  but  he  has 
probably,  as  yet,  no  clear  idea  of  its  generic  forms.  Nor 
would  it  be  safe  to  define  these  after  an  examination  of  St. 
Mark's  alone,  built  as  it  was  upon  various  models,  and  at 
various  periods.  But  if  we  pass  through  the  city,  looking  for 
buildings  which  resemble  St.  Mark's — first,  in  the  most  im- 
portant feature  of  incrustation  ;  secondly,  in  the  character  of 
the  mouldings, — we  shall  find  a  considerable  number,  not  in- 
deed very  attractive  in  their  first  address  to  the  eye,  but  agree- 
ing perfectly,  both  with  each  other,  and  with  the  earliest  por- 
tions of  St.  Mark's,  in  every  important  detail ;  and  to  be 
regarded,  therefore,  with  profound  interest,  as  indeed  the 
remains  of  an  ancient  city  of  Venice,  altogether  different  in 
aspect  from  that  which  now  exists.  From  these  remains  we 
may  with  safety  deduce  general  conclusions  touching  the 
forms  of  Byzantine  architecture,  as  practised  in  Eastern  Italy, 
during  the  eleventh,  twelfth,  and  thirteenth  centuries. 

§  ii.  They  agree  in  another  respect,  as  well  as  in  style.  All 
are  either  ruins,  or  fragments  disguised  by  restoration.  Not 
one  of  them  is  uninjured  or  unaltered  ;  and  the  impossibility 
of  finding  so  much  as  an  angle  or  a  single  story  in  perfect 
condition  is  a  proof,  hardly  less  convincing  than  the  method 
of  their  architecture,  that  they  were  indeed  raised  during  the 
earliest  phases  of  the  Venetian  power.  The  mere  fragments, 
dispersed  in  narrow  streets,  and  recognizable  by  a  single  capi- 
tal, or  the  segment  of  an  arch,  I  shall  not  enumerate  :  but,  01 
important  remains,  there  are  six  in  the  immediate  neighbor- 
hood of  the  Rialto,  one  in  the  Rio  di  Ca'  Foscari,  and  one  con- 
spicuously placed  opposite  the  great  Renaissance  Palace  known 
as  the  Vendramin  Calerghi,  one  of  the  few  palaces  still  inhab 
ited  *  and  well  maintained  ;  and  noticeable,  moreover,  as  hav* 
*  In  the  year  1851,  by  the  Duchesse  de  Berri. 


BYZANTINE  PALACES. 


ing  a  garden  beside  it,  rich  with  evergreens,  and  decorated 
by  gilded  railings  and  white  statues  that  cast  long  streams  of 
snowy  reflection  down  into  the  deep  water.  The  vista  of 
canal  beyond  is  terminated  by  the  Church  of  St.  Geremia, 
another  but  less  attractive  work  of  the  Eenaissance  ;  a  mass 
of  barren  brickwork,  with  a  dull  leaden  dome  above,  like  those 
of  our  National  Gallery.  So  that  the  spectator  has  the  richest 
and  meanest  of  the  late  architecture  of  Venice  before  him  at 
once  :  the  richest,  let  him  observe,  a  piece  of  private  luxury  ; 
the  poorest,  that  which  was  given  to  God.  Then,  looking  to 
the  left,  he  will  see  the  fragment  of  the  work  of  earlier  ages, 
testifying  against  both,  not  less  by  its  utter  desolation  than 
by  the  nobleness  of  the  traces  that  are  still  left  of  it. 

§  in.  It  is  a  ghastly  ruin  ;  whatever  i3  venerable  or  sad  in 
its  wreck  being  disguised  by  attempts  to  put  it  to  present  uses 
of  the  basest  kind.  It  has  been  composed  of  arcades  borne 
by  marble  shafts,  and  wails  of  brick  faced  with  marble  :  but 
the  covering  stones  have  been  torn  away  from  it  like  the  shroud 
from  a  corpse  ;  and  its  walls,  rent  into  a  thousand  chasms,  are 
filled  and  refilled  with  fresh  brickwork,  and  the  seams  and 
hollows  are  choked  with  clay  and  whitewash,  oozing  and  trick- 
ling over  the  marble, — itself  blanched  into  dusty  decay  by  the 
frosts  of  centuries.  Soft  grass  and  wandering  leafage  have 
rooted  themselves  in  the  rents,  but  they  are  not  suffered  to 
grow  in  their  own  wild  and  gentle  way,  for  the  place  is  in  a 
sort  inhabited ;  rotten  partitions  are  nailed  across  its  corri- 
dors, and  miserable  rooms  contrived  in  its  western  wing  ;  and 
here  and  there  the  weeds  are  indolently  torn  down,  leaving 
their  haggard  fibres  to  struggle  again  into  unwholesome 
growth  when  the  spring  next  stirs  them  :  and  thus,  in  contest 
between  death  and  life,  the  unsightly  heap  is  festering  to  its 
fall. 

Of  its  history  little  is  recorded,  and  that  little  futile.  That 
it  once  belonged  to  the  dukes  of  Ferrara,  and  was  bought  from 
them  in  the  sixteenth  .century,  to  be  made  a  general  receptacle 
for  the  goods  of  the  Turkish  merchants,  whence  it  is  now  gen- 
erally known  as  the  Fondaco,  or  Fontico,  de'  Turchi,  are  facts 
just  as  important  to  the  antiquary,  as  that,  in  the  year  1359, 


122 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


the  municipality  of  Venice  allowed  its  lower  story  to  be  used 
for  a  "deposito  di  Tabacchi."  Neither  of  this,  nor  of  any 
other  remains  of  the  period,  can  we  know  anything  but  what 
their  own  stones  will  tell  us. 

§  iv.  The  reader  will  find  in  Appendix  11,  written  chiefly 
for  the  traveller's  benefit,  an  account  of  the  situation  and 
present  state  of  the  other  seven  Byzantine  palaces.  Here  I 
shall  only  give  a  general  account  of  the  most  interesting  points 
in  their  architecture. 

They  all  agree  in  being  round-arched  and  incrusted  with 
marble,  but  there  are  only  six  in  which  the  original  disposi- 
tion of  the  parts  is  anywise  traceable  ;  namely,  those  distin- 
guished in  the  Appendix  as  the  Fondaco  de'  Turchi,  Casa 
Loredan,  Caso  Farsetti,  Bio-Foscari  House,  Terraced  House, 
and  Madonnetta  House  :  *  and  these  six  agree  farther  in  hav- 
ing continuous  arcades  along  their  entire  fronts  from  one  angle 
to  the  other,  and  in  having  their  arcades  divided,  in  each  case, 
into  a  centre  and  wings  ;  both  by  greater  size  in  the  midmost 
arches,  and  by  the  alternation  of  shafts  in  the  centre,  with  pi- 
lasters, or  with  small  shafts,  at  the  flanks. 

§  v.  So  far  as  their  structure  can  be  traced,  they  agree  also 
in  having  tall  and  few  arches  in  their  lower  stories,  and  shorter 
and  more  numerous  arches  above :  but  it  happens  most  un- 
fortunately that  in  the  only  two  cases  in  which  the  second 
stories  are  left  the  ground  floors  are  modernized,  and  in  the 
others  where  the  sea  stories  are  left  the  second  stories  are 
modernized  ;  so  that  we  never  have  more  than  two  tiers  of  the 
Byzantine  arches,  one  above  the  other.  These,  however,  are 
quite  enough  to  show  the  first  main  point  on  which  I  wish  to 
insist,  namely,  the  subtlety  of  the  feeling  for  proportion  in  the 
Greek  architects  ;  and  I  hope  that  even  the  general  reader 
will  not  allow  himself  to  be  frightened  by  the  look  of  a  few 
measurements,  for,  if  he  will  only  take  the  little  pains  neces- 
sary to  compare  them,  he  will,  I  am  almost  certain,  find  the 
result  not  devoid  of  interest. 

§  vi.  I  had  intended  originally  to  give  elevations  of  all 

*  Of  the  Braided  House  and  Casa  Businello,  described  in  the  Appen- 
lix,  only  the  great  central  arcades  remain. 


BYZANTINE  PALACES. 


128 


i&iese  palaces  ;  but  have  not  had  time  to  prepare  plates  re- 
quiring so  much  labor  and  care.  I  must,  therefore,  explain 
the  position  of  their  parts  in  the  simplest  way  in  my  power. 

The  Fondaco  de'  Turchi  has  sixteen  arches  in  its  sea  story* 
and  twenty-six  above  them  in  its  first  story,  the  whole  based 
on  a  magnificent  foundation,  built  of  blocks  of  red  marble, 
some  of  them  seven  feet  long  by  a  foot  and  a  half  thick,  and 
raised  to  a  height  of  about  five  feet  above  high -water  mark. 


n  o. mum  n  n  rro  rm  u  n  n 

^  C 

(1 

ft 

L, 

11 

y 

H 

Hi 

.  ./A  j- 

H 

?  f 

A 

ff 

~>  14 

c 

( 

R 

fa 

o 

)( 

n 

i 

n 

r 

4      .  j 

4  4 

&     a     a        h        c  d  e 

Fig.  IV. 

At  this  level,  the  elevation  of  one  half  of  the  building,  from 
its  flank  to  the  central  pillars  of  its  arcades,  is  rudely  given  in 
Fig.  IV.  It  is  only  drawn  to  show  the  arrangement  of  the 
parts,  as  the  sculptures  which  are  indicated  by  the  circles  and 
upright  oblongs  between  the  arches  are  too  delicate  to  be 
shown  in  a  sketch  three  times  the  size  of  this.  The  building 
once  was  crowned  with  an  Arabian  parapet  ;  but  it  was  taken 
down  some  years  since,  and  I  am  aware  of  no  authentic  rep* 


124 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


reservation  of  its  details.  The  greater  part  of  the  sculptures 
between  the  arches,  indicated  in  the  woodcut  only  by  blank 
circles,  have  also  fallen,  or  been  removed,  but  enough  remain 
on  the  two  flanks  to  justify  the  representation  given  in  the 
diagram  of  their  original  arrangement. 

And  now  observe  the  dimensions.  The  small  arches  of  the 
wings  in  the  ground  story,  a,  a,  a,  measure,  in  breadth,  from 


The  difference  between  the  width  of  the  arches  b  and  c  is 
necessitated  by  the  small  recess  of  the  cornice  on  the  left  hand 
as  compared  with  that  of  the  great  capitals ;  but  this  sudden 
difference  of  half  a  foot  between  the  two  extreme  arches  of 
the  centre  offended  the  builder's  eye,  so  he  diminished  the 
next  one,  unnecessarily,  two  inches,  and  thus  obtained  the 
gradual  cadence  to  the  flanks,  from  eight  feet  down  to  four 
and  a  half,  in  a  series  of  continually  increasing  steps.  Of 
course  the  effect  cannot  be  shown  in  the  diagram,  as  the  first 
difference  is  less  than  the  thickness  of  its  lines.  In  the  upper 
story  the  capitals  are  all  nearly  of  the  same  height,  and  there 
was  no  occasion  for  the  difference  between  the  extreme  arches. 
Its  twenty-six  arches  are  placed,  four  small  ones  above  each 
lateral  three  of  the  lower  arcade,  and  eighteen  larger  above 
the  central  ten  ;  thus  throwing  the  shafts  into  all  manner  of 
relative  positions,  and  completely  confusing  the  eye  in  any 
effort  to  count  them  :  but  there  is  an  exquisite  symmetry  run- 
ning through  their  apparent  confusion  ;  for  it  will  be  seen 
that  the  four  arches  in  each  flank  are  arranged  in  two  groups, 
of  which  one  has  a  large  single  shaft  in  the  centre,  and  the 
other  a  pilaster  and  two  small  shafts.  The  way  in  which  the 
large  shaft  is  used  as  an  echo  of  those  in  the  central  arcade, 
dovetailing  them,  as  it  were,  into  the  system  of  the  pilasters, 
— just  as  a  great  painter,  passing  from  one  tone  of  color  to 


shaft  to  shaft 
interval  b 
interval  c 

intervals  d,  e,  f}  &c  . 


Ft. 
4 
7 
7 
8 


In. 
5 

6* 
11 
1 


BYZANTINE  PALACES. 


125 


another,  repeats,  over  a  small  space,  that  which  he  has  left, — 
is  highly  characteristic  of  the  Byzantine  care  in  composition. 
There  are  other  evidences  of  it  in  the  arrangement  of  the 
capitals,  which  will  he  noticed  below  in  the  seventh  chapter. 
The  lateral  arches  of  this  upper  arcade  measure  3  ft.  2  in. 
across,  and  the  central  3  ft.  li  in.,  so  that  the  arches  in  the 
building  are  altogether  of  six  magnitudes. 

§  vii.  Next  let  us  take  the  Casa  Loredan.  The  mode  of 
arrangement  of  its  pillars  is  precisely  like  that  of  the  Fondaco 
de'  Turchi,  so  that  I  shall  merely  indicate  them  by  vertical 
lines  in  order  to  be  able  to  letter  the  intervals.  It  has  five 
arches  in  the  centre  of  the  lower  story,  and  two  in  each  of  its 
wings. 


e 

a 

c 

h 

a 

b 

c 

d 

<> 

Ft.  In. 

The  midmost  interval,  a,  of  the  central  five,  is  6  1 
The  two  on  each  side,  b,  b  .  .  .52 
The  two  extremes,  c,  c  .         .  .49 

Inner  arches  of  the  wings,  d,  d  .  .  .4  4 
Outer  arches  of  the  wings,  e,  e  .         .         .4  6 

The  gradation  of  these  dimensions  is  visible  at  a  glance  : 
the  boldest  step  being  here  taken  nearest  the  centre,  while  in 
the  Fondaco  it  is  farthest  from  the  centre.  The  first  loss  here 
is  of  eleven  inches,  the  second  of  five,  the  third  of  five,  and 
then  there  is  a  most  subtle  increase  of  two  inches  in  the  ex- 
treme arches,  as  if  to  contradict  the  principle  of  diminution, 
and  stop  the  falling  away  of  the  building  by  firm  resistance  at 
its  flanks. 

I  could  not  get  the  measures  of  the  upper  story  accurately, 
the  palace  having  been  closed  all  the  time  I  was  in  Venice  ; 
but  it  has  seven  central  arches  above  the  five  below,  and  three 
at  the  flanks  above  the  two  below,  the  groups  being  separated 
by  double  shafts. 


126 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


§  vin.  Again,  in  the  Casa  Farsetti,  the  lower  story  has  a 
centre  of  five  arches,  and  wings  of  two.  Referring,  therefore, 
to  the  last  figure,  which  will  answer  for  this  palace  also,  the 
measures  of  the  intervals  are  : 

Ft.  In. 

a  8  0 

b  5  10 

c         .  .         .  .54 

d  and  e  .  .  .  .53 

It  is,  however,  possible  that  the  interval  c  and  the  wing  arches 
may  have  been  intended  to  be  similar  ;  for  one  of  the  wing 
arches  measures  5  ft.  4  in.  We  have  thus  a  simpler  proportion 
than  any  we  have  hitherto  met  with  ;  only  two  losses  taking 
place,  the  first  of  2  ft.  2  in.,  the  second  of  6  inches. 

The  upper  story  has  a  central  group  of  seven  arches,  wThose 
widths  are  4  ft.  1  in. 

Ft.  In. 

The  next  arch  on  each  side  m  .3  5 
The  three  arches  of  each  wing  .    3  G 

Here  again  we  have  a  most  curious  instance  of  the  subtlety  of 
eye  which  was  not  satisfied  without  a  third  dimension,  but 
could  be  satisfied  with  a  difference  of  an  inch  on  three  feet 
and  a  half. 

§  ix.  In  the  Terraced  House,  the  ground  floor  is  modern- 
ized, but  the  first  story  is  composed  of  a  centre  of  five  arches, 
with  wings  of  two,  measuring  as  follows  : 

Ft.  In. 

Three  midmost  arches  of  the  central  group  .  4  0 
Outermost  arch  of  the  central  group  .  .46 
Innermost  arch  of  the  wing    .  .  .    4  10 

Outermost  arch  of  the  wing  *  .50 

Here  the  greatest  step  is  towards  the  centre  ;  but  the  in^ 
crease,  which  is  unusual,  is  towards  the  outside,  the  gain  be- 
ing successively  six,  four,  and  two  inches. 

I  could  not  obtain  the  measures  of  the  second  story,  in 
*  Only  one  wing  of  the  first  story  is  left     See  Appendix  11. 


BYZANTINE  PALACES. 


127 


which  only  the  central  group  is  left ;  but  the  two  outermost 
arches  are  visibly  larger  than  the  others,  thus  beginning  a 
correspondent  proportion  to  the  one  below,  of  which  the 
lateral  quantities  have  been  destroyed  by  restorations. 

§  x.  Finally,  in  the  Rio-Foscari  House,  the  central  arch  is 
the  principal  feature,  and  the  four  lateral  ones  form  one  mag- 
nificent wing ;  the  dimensions  being  from  the  centre  to  the 
side  : 

Ft.  In. 

Central  arch       .  .  .  .99 

Second    "         .  .  .  .38 

Third      "  .  .  .    3  10 

Fourth    "  .  .  .    3  10 

Fifth       "  .  .  .38 

The  difference  of  two  inches  on  nearly  three  feet  in  the  two 
midmost  arches  being  all  that  was  necessary  to  satisfy  the 
builder's  eye. 

§  xi.  I  need  not  point  out  to  the  reader  that  these  singular 
and  minute  harmonies  of  proportion  indicate,  beyond  all  dis- 
pute, not  only  that  the  buildings  in  which  they  are  found  are 
of  one  school,  but  (so  far  as  these  subtle  coincidences  of  meas- 
urement can  still  be  traced  in  them)  in  their  original  form. 
No  modern  builder  has  any  idea  of  connecting  his  arches  in 
this  manner,  and  restorations  in  Venice  are  carried  on  with 
too  violent  hands  to  admit  of  the  supposition  that  such  refine- 
ments would  be  even  noticed  in  the  progress  of  demolition, 
much  less  imitated  in  heedless  reproduction.  And  as  if  to 
direct  our  attention  especially  to  this  character,  as  indicative 
of  Byzantine  workmanship,  the  most  interesting  example  of 
all  will  be  found  in  the  arches  of  the  front  of  St.  Mark's  itself, 
whose  proportions  I  have  not  noticed  before,  in  order  that 
they  might  here  be  compared  with  those  of  the  contemporary 
palaces. 

§  xii.  The  doors  actually  employed  for  entrance  in  the  west- 
ern facade  are  as  usual  five,  arranged  as  at  a  in  the  annexed 
woodcut,  Fig.V.  ;  but  the  Byzantine  builder  could  not  be  sat- 
isfied with  so  simple  a  group,  and  he  introduced,  therefore. 


128 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


two  minor  arches  at  the  extremities,  as  at  b,  by  adding  tw\* 
small  porticos  which  are  of  no  use  whatever  except  to  consum- 
mate the  proportions  of  the  facade,  and  themselves  to  exhibit 


& 

Fig.  V. 

the  most  exquisite  proportions  in  arrangements  of  shaft  and 
archivolt  with  which  I  am  acquainted  in  the  entire  range  of 
European  architecture. 

Into  these  minor  particulars  I  cannot  here  enter ;  but  ob- 
serve the  dimensions  of  the  range  of  arches  in  the  facade,  as 
thus  completed  by  the  flanking  porticos  : 

Ft.  In. 

The  space  of  its  central  archivolt  is  .  .  .31  8 
"  the  two  on  each  side,  about  *.  .  19  8 
"  the  two  succeeding,  about  .  .  20  4 
"       small  arches  at  flanks,  about  .  .60 

I  need  not  make  any  comment  upon  the  subtle  difference  of 
eight  inches  on  twenty  feet  between  the  second  and  third 
dimensions.  If  the  reader  will  be  at  the  pains  to  compare 
the  whole  evidence  now  laid  before  him,  with  that  deduced 
above  from  the  apse  of  Murano,  he  cannot  but  confess  that  it 
amounts  to  an  irrefragable  proof  of  an  intense  perception  of 
harmony  in  the  relation  of  quantities,  on  the  part  of  the  By- 

*  I  am  obliged  to  give  these  measures  approximately,  because,  this  front 
having  been  studied  by  the  builder  with  unusual  care,  not  one  of  its 
measures  is  the  same  as  another  ;  and  the  symmetries  between  the  corre- 
spondent arches  are  obtained  by  changes  in  the  depth  of  their  mouldings 
and  variations  in  their  heights,  far  too  complicated  for  me  to  enter  into 
here  ;  so  that  of  the  two  arches  stated  as  19  ft.  8  in.  in  span,  one  is  in 
reality  19  ft.  6£  in.,  the  other  19  ft.  10  in.,  and  of  the  two  stated  as  20  ft 
4  in.,  one  is  20  ft.  and  the  other  20  ft.  8  in. 


BYZANTINE  PALACES. 


129 


zantine  architects ;  a  perception  which  we  have  at  present 
lost  so  utterly  as  hardly  to  be  able  even  to  conceive  it.  And 
let  it  not  be  said,  as  it  was  of  the  late  discoveries  of  subtle 
curvature  in  the  Parthenon,*  that  what  is  not  to  be  demon- 
strated without  laborious  measurement,  cannot  have  influence 
on  the  beauty  of  the  design.  The  eye  is  continually  influ- 
enced by  what  it  cannot  detect ;  nay,  it  is  not  going  too  far 
to  say,  that  it  is  most  influenced  by  what  it  detects  least. 
Let  the  painter  define,  if  he  can,  the  variations  of  lines  on 
which  depend  the  changes  of  expression  in  the  human  coun- 
tenance. The  greater  he  is,  the  more  he  will  feel  their  sub- 
tlety, and  the  intense  difficulty  of  perceiving  all  their  rela- 
tions, or  answering  for  the  consequences  of  a  variation  of  a 
hair's  breadth  in  a  single  curve.  Indeed,  there  is  nothing 
truly  noble  either  in  color  or  in  form,  but  its  power  depends 
on  circumstances  infinitely  too  intricate  to  be  explained,  and 
almost  too  subtle  to  be  traced.  And  as  for  these  Byzantine 
buildings,  we  only  do  not  feel  them  because  we  do  not  loatch 
them  ;  otherwise  we  should  as  much  enjoy  the  variety  of  pro- 
portion in  their  arches,  as  we  do  at  present  that  of  the  natural 
architecture  of  flowers  and  leaves. 
Any  of  us  can  feel  in  an  instant 
the  grace  of  the  leaf  group,  b,  in 
the  annexed  figure  ;  and  yet  that 
grace  is  simply  owing  to  its  being 
proportioned  like  the  facade  of 
St.  Mark's  ;  each  leaflet  answering 
to  an  arch, — the  smallest  at  the  fig.vt. 
root,  to  those  of  the  porticos.  I 

have  tried  to  give  the  proportion  quite  accurately  in  b ;  but 
as  the  difference  between  the  second  and  third  leaflets  is 
hardly  discernible  on  so  small  a  scale,  it  is  somewhat  exag- 
gerated in  a.  f  Nature  is  often  far  more  subtle  in  her  propor- 
tions. In  looking  at  some  of  the  nobler  species  of  lilies,  full 
i  the  front  of  the  flower,  we  may  fancy  for  a  moment  that 

*  By  Mr.  Penrose. 

f  I  am  sometimes  obliged,  unfortunately,  to  read  my  woodcuts  back- 
wards owing  to  my  having  forgotten  to  reverse  them  on  the  wood. 
Vol.  11—9 


130 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


they  form  a  symmetrical  six-petaled  star ;  but  on  examining 
them  more  closely,  we  shall  find  that  they  are  thrown  into  a 
group  of  three  magnitudes  by  the  expansion 
of  two  of  the  inner  petals  above  the  stamens 
to  a  breadth  greater  than  any  of  the  four 
others ;  while  the  third  inner  petal,  on  which 
the  stamens  rest,  contracts  itself  into  the  nar- 
rowest of  the  six,  and  the  three  under  petals 
Fig.  vil  remain  of  one  intermediate  magnitude,  as  seen 
in  the  annexed  figure. 
§  xiii.  I  must  not,  however,  weary  the  reader  with  this  sub- 
ject, which  has  always  been  a  favorite  one  with  me,  and  is 
apt  to  lead  too  far  ;  we  will  return  to  the  palaces  on  the 
Grand  Canal.  Admitting,  then,  that  their  fragments  are 
proved,  by  the  minute  correspondence  of  their  arrangement, 
to  be  still  in  their  original  positions,  they  indicate  to  us  a 
form,  whether  of  palace  or  dwelling-house,  in  which  there 
were,  universally,  central  galleries,  or  loggias,  opening  into 
apartments  on  each  wing,  the  amount  of  light  admitted  being 
immense  ;  and  the  general  proportions  of  the  building, 
slender,  light,  and  graceful  in  the  utmost  degree,  it  being  in 
fact  little  more  than  an  aggregate  of  shafts  and  arches.  Of 
the  interior  disposition  of  these  palaces  there  is  in  no  instance 
the  slightest  trace  left,  nor  am  I  well  enough  acquainted  with 
the  existing  architecture  of  the  East  to  risk  any  conjecture  on 
this  subject.  I  pursue  the  statement  of  the  facts  which  still 
are  ascertainable  respecting  their  external  forms. 

§  xiv.  In  every  one  of  the  buildings  above  mentioned,  ex- 
cept the  Rio-Foscari  House  (which  has  only  one  great  en- 
trance between  its  wings),  the  central  arcades  are  sustained, 
at  least  in  one  story,  and  generally  in  both,  on  bold  detached 
cylindrical  shafts,  with  rich  capitals,  while  the  arches  of  the 
wings  are  carried  on  smaller  shafts  assisted  by  portions  of 
wall,  which  become  pilasters  of  greater  or  less  width. 

And  now  I  must  remind  the  reader  of  what  was  pointed 
out  above  (Vol.  I.  Chap.  XXVII.  §§  in.  xxxv.  xl.),  that  there 
are  two  great  orders  of  capitals  in  the  world  ;  that  one  of 
these  is  convex  in  its  contour,  the  other  concave  ;  and  that 


f  4 
St. 


Plate  VII. — Byzantine  Capitals.    Convex  Group. 


BYZANTINE  PALACES. 


131 


richness  of  ornament,  with  all  freedom  of  fancy,  is  for  the 
most  part  found  in  the  one,  and  severity  of  ornament,  with 
stern  discipline  of  the  fancy,  in  the  other. 

Of  these  two  families  of  capitals  both  occur  in  the  Byzan- 
tine period,  but  the  concave  group  is  the  longest-lived,  and 
extends  itself  into  the  Gothic  times.  In  the  account  which  I 
gave  of  them  in  the  first  volume,  they  were  illustrated  by  giv- 
ing two  portions  of  a  simple  curve,  that  of  a  salvia  leaf.  "We 
must  now  investigate  their  characters  more  in  detail  ;  and 
these  may  be  best  generally  represented  by  considering  both 
families  as  formed  upon  the  types  of  flowers, — the  one  upon 
that  of  the  water-lily,  the  other  upon  that  of  the  convolvulus. 
There  was  no  intention  in  the  Byzantine  architects  to  imitate 
either  one  or  the  other  of  these  flowers  ;  but,  as  I  have  already 
so  often  repeated,  all  beautiful  works  of  art  must  either  in- 
tentionally imitate  or  accidentally  resemble  natural  forms; 
and  the  direct  comparison  writh  the  natural  forms  which  these 
capitals  most  resemble,  is  the  likeliest  mode  of  fixing  their 
distinctions  in  the  reader's  mind. 

The  one  then,  the  convex  family,  is  modelled  according  to 
the  commonest  shapes  of  that  great  group  of  flowers  wThich 
form  rounded  cups,  like  that  of  the  water-lily,  the  leaves 
springing  horizontally  from  the  stalk,  and  closing  together 
upwards.  The  rose  is  of  this  family,  but  her  cup  is  filled 
with  the  luxuriance  of  her  leaves  ;  the  crocus,  campanula, 
ranunculus,  anemone,  and  almost  all  the  loveliest  children  of 
the  field,  are  formed  upon  the  same  type. 

The  other  family  resembles  the  convolvulus,  trumpet-flower, 
and  such  others,  in  which  the  lower  part  of  the  bell  is  slender, 
and  the  lip  curves  outwards  at  the  top.  There  are  fewer 
flowers  constructed  on  this  than  on  the  convex  model  ;  but 
in  the  organization  of  trees  and  of  clusters  of  herbage  it  is 
seen  continually.  Of  course,  both"  of  these  conditions  are 
modified,  when  applied  to  capitals,  by  the  enormously  greater 
thickness  of  the  stalk  or  shaft,  but  in  other  respects  the 
parallelism  is  close  and  accurate  ;  and  the  reader  had  better 
at  once  fix  the  flower  outlines  in  his  mind,*  and  remember 
*  Vide  Plate  X.  figs.  1  and  4. 


132 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


Uiem  as  representing  the  only  two  orders  of  capitals  that  the 
world  has  ever  seen,  or  can  see. 

§  xv.  The  examples  of  the  concave  family  in  the  Byzantine 
times  are  found  principally  either  in  large  capitals  founded 
on  the  Greek  Corinthian,  used  chiefly  for  the  nave  pillars  of 
churches,  or  in  the  small  lateral  shafts  of  the  palaces.  It  ap- 
pears somewhat  singular  that  the  pure  Corinthian  form  should 
have  been  reserved  almost  exclusively  for  nave  pillars,  as  at 
Torcello,  Murano,  and  St.  Mark's  ;  it  occurs,  indeed,  together 
with  almost  every  other  form,  on  the  exterior  of  St.  Mark's 
also,  but  never  so  definitely  as  in  the  nave  and  transept  shafts. 
Of  the  conditions  assumed  by  it  at  Torcello  enough  has  been 
said  ;  and  one  of  the  most  delicate  of  the  varieties  occurring 
in  St.  Mark's  is  given  in  Plate  VIII.,  fig.  15,  remarkable  for 
the  cutting  of  the  sharp  thistle-like  leaves  into  open  relief,  so 
that  the  light  sometimes  shines  through  them  from  behind, 
and  for  the  beautiful  curling  of  the  extremities  of  the  leaves 
outwards,  joining  each  other  at  the  top,  as  in  an  undivided 
flower. 

§  xvi.  The  other  characteristic  examples  of  the  concave 
groups  in  the  Byzantine  times  are  as  simple  as  those  resulting 
from  the  Corinthian  are  rich.  They  occur  on  the  small  shafts 
at  the  flanks  of  the  Fondaco  de'  Turchi,  the  Casa  Farsetti, 
Casa  Loreclan,  Terraced  House,  and  upper  story  of  the 
Madonnetta  House,  in  forms  so  exactly  similar  that  the  two 
figures  1  and  2  in  Plate  VHI.  may  sufficiently  represent  them 
all.  They  consist  merely  of  portions  cut  out  of  the  plinths 
or  string-courses  which  run  along  all  the  faces  of  these 
palaces,  by  four  truncations  in  the  form  of  arrowy  leaves  (fig. 
1,  Fondaco  de'  Turchi),  and  the  whole  rounded  a  little  at  the 
bottom  so  as  to  fit  the  shaft.  When  they  occur  between  two 
arches  they  assume  the  form  of  the  group  fig.  2  (Terraced 
House).  Fig.  3  is  from  the  central  arches  of  the  Casa 
Farsetti,  and  is  only  given  because  either  it  is  a  later  restora- 
tion or  a  form  absolutely  unique  in  the  Byzantine  period, 

§  xvit.  The  concave  group,  however,  wras  not  naturally 
pleasing  to  the  Byzantine  mind.  Its  own  favorite  capital  was 
of  the  bold  convex  or  cushion  shape,  so  conspicuous  in  all  the 


BYZANTINE  PALACES. 


133 


buildings  of  the  period  that  I  have  devoted  Plate  VII.,  oppo- 
site entirely  to  its  illustration.  The  form  in  which  it  is  first 
used  is  practically  obtained  from  a  square  block  laid  on  the 
head  of  the  shaft  (fig.  1,  Plate  VII. ),  by  first  cutting  off  the 
lower  corners,  as  in  fig.  2,  and  then  rounding  the  edges,  as  in 
fig.  3  ;  this  gives  us  the  bell  stone  :  on  this  is  laid  a  simple 
abacus,  as  seen  in  fig.  4,  which  is  the  actual  form  used  in  the 
upper  arcade  of  Murano,  and  the  framework  of  the  capital  is 
complete.  Fig.  5  shows  the  general  manner  and  effect  of  its 
decoration  on  the  same  scale  ;  the  other  figures,  6  and  7,  both 
from  the  apse  of  Murano,  8,  from  the  Terraced  House,  and  9, 
from  the  Baptistery  of  St.  Marks,  show  the  method  of  chisel- 
ling the  surfaces  in  capitals  of  average  richness,  such  as  occur 
everywhere,  for  there  is  no  limit  to  the  fantasy  and  beauty  of 
the  more  elaborate  examples. 

§  xviii.  In  consequence  of  the  peculiar  affection  entertained 
for  these  massy  forms  by  the  Byzantines,  they  were  apt,  when 
they  used  any  condition  of  capital  founded  on  the  Corinthian, 
to  modify  the  concave  profile  by  making  it  bulge  out  at  the 
bottom.  Fig.  1,  «,  Plate  X.,  is  the  profile  of  a  capital  of  the 
pure  concave  family ;  and  observe,  it  needs  a  fillet  or  cord 
round  the  neck  of  the  capital  to  show  where  it  separates  from 
the  shaft.  Fig.  4,  a,  on  the  other  hand,  is  the  profile  of  the 
pure  convex  group,  which  not  only  needs  no  such  projecting 
fillet,  but  would  be  encumbered  by  it  ;  while  fig.  2,  a,  is  the 
profile  of  one  of  the  Byzantine  capitals  (Fondaco  de'  Turchi, 
lower  arcade)  founded  on  Corinthian,  of  which  the  main 
sweep  is  concave,  but  which  bends  below  into  the  convex 
hell-shape,  where  it  joins  the  shaft.  And,  lastly,  fig.  3,  a,  is 
the  profile  of  the  nave  shafts  of  St.  Mark's,  where,  though 
very  delicately  granted,  the  concession  to  the  Byzantine 
temper  is  twofold  ;  first  at  the  spring  of  the  curve  from  the 
base,  and  secondly  the  top,  where  it  again  becomes  convex, 
though  the  expression  of  the  Corinthian  bell  is  still  given  to 
it  by  the  bold  concave  leaves. 

§  xix.  These,  then,  being  the  general  modifications  of  By- 
zantine profiles,  I  have  thrown  together  in  Plate  VDI.,  oppo- 
site, some  of  the  most  characteristic  examples  of  the  decora* 


134 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


tion  of  the  concave  and  transitional  types  ;  their  localities  are 
given  in  the  note  below, *  and  the  following  are  the  principal 
points  to  be  observed  respecting  them. 

The  purest  concave  forms,  1  and  2,  were  never  decorated 
in  the  earliest  times,  except  sometimes  by  an  incision  or  rib 
down  the  centre  of  their  truncations  on  the  angles. 

Figures  4,  5,  6,  and  7  show  some  of  the  modes  of  applica- 
tion of  a  peculiarly  broad-lobed  acanthus  leaf,  very  character- 
istic of  native  Venetian  work  ;  4  and  5  are  from  the  same 
building,  two  out  of  a  group  of  four,  and  show  the  boldness 
of  the  variety  admitted  in  the  management  even  of  the  capitals 
most  closely  derived  from  the  Corinthian.  I  never  saw  one  of 
these  Venetian  capitals  in  all  respects  like  another.  The  tre- 
foils into  which  the  leaves  fall  at  the  extremities  are,  however, 
for  the  most  part  similar,  though  variously  disposed,  and  gen- 
erally niche  themselves  one  under  the  other,  as  very  character- 
istically in  fig.  7.  The  form  8  occurs  in  St.  Mark's  only,  and 
there  very  frequently :  9  at  Venice  occurs,  I  think,  in  St. 
Mark's  only  ;  but  it  is  a  favorite  early  Lombardic  form.  10, 
11,  and  12  are  all  highly  characteristic.  10  occurs  with  more 
fantastic  interweaving  upon  its  sides  in  the  upper  stories  of 
St.  Mark's  ;  11  is  derived,  in  the  Casa  Loredan,  from  the 
great  lily  capitals  of  St.  Mark's,  of  which  more  presently.  13 
and  15  are  peculiar  to  St.  Mark's.  14  is  a  lovely  condition, 
occurring  both  there  and  in  the  Fondaco  de'  Turchi. 

The  modes  in  which  the  separate  portions  of  the  leaves  are 
executed  in  these  and  other  Byzantine  capitals,  will  be  noticed 
more  at  length  hereafter.  Here  I  only  wish  the  reader  to  ob- 
serve two  things,  both  with  respect  to  these  and  the  capitals  of 

*  1.  Fondaco  de'  Turchi,  lateral  pil-    8.  St.  Mark's. 

tirs.  9.  St.  Mark's. 

2.  Terraced  House,  lateral  pillars,  10.  Braided  House,  upper  arcade. 

8.  Casa  Farsetti,  central  pillars,  11.  Casa  Loredan,  upper  arcade. 

upper  arcade.  12.  St.  Mark's. 

4.  Casa  Loredan,  lower  arcade.  13.  St.  Mark's 

-1  Casa  Loredan,  lower  arcade.  14.  Fondaco  de*  Turchi,  upper  ar< 
6.  Fondaco  de'  Turchi,  upper  ar-  cade. 

cade.  15.  St.  Mark's*, 
tfo  Casa  Loredan,  upper  arcade. 


BYZANTINE  PALACES. 


135 


the  convex  family  on  the  former  Plate  :  first  the  Life,  second- 
ly, the  Breadth,  of  these  capitals,  as  compared  with  Greek 
forms. 

§  xx.  I  say,  first,  the  Life.  Not  only  is  every  one  of  these 
capitals  differently  fancied,  but  there  are  many  of  them  which 
have  no  two  sides  alike.  Fig.  5,  for  instance,  varies  on  every 
side  in  the  arrangement  of  the  pendent  leaf  in  its  centre  ;  fig„ 
6  has  a  different  plant  on  each  of  its  four  upper  angles.  The 
birds  are  each  cut  with  a  different  play  of  plumage  in  figs.  9 
and  12,  and  the  vine-leaves  are  every  one  varied  in  their  posi- 
tion in  fig.  13.  But  this  is  not  all.  The  differences  in  the 
character  of  ornamentation  between  them  and  the  Greek 
capitals,  all  show  a  greater  love  of  nature  ;  the  leaves  are, 
every  one  of  them,  more  founded  on  realities,  sketched,  how- 
ever rudely,  more  directly  from  the  truth  ;  and  are  continually 
treated  in  a  manner  which  shows  the  mind  of  the  workman  to 
have  been  among  the  living  herbage,  not  among  Greek  prece- 
dents. The  hard  outlines  in  which,  for  the  sake  of  perfect  in- 
telligibility, I  have  left  this  Plate,  have  deprived  the  examples 
of  the  vitality  of  their  light  and  shade  ;  but  the  reader  can 
nevertheless  observe  the  ideas  of  life  occurring  perpetually  : 
at  the  top  of  fig.  4,  for  instance,  the  small  leaves  turned  side- 
ways ;  in  fig.  5,  the  formal  volutes  of  the  old  Corinthian 
transformed  into  a  branching  tendril ;  in  fig.  6,  the  bunch  of 
grapes  thrown  carelessly  in  at  the  right-hand  corner,  in  defi- 
ance of  all  symmetry ;  in  fig.  7,  the  volutes  knitted  into 
wreaths  of  ivy  ;  in  fig.  14,  the  leaves,  drifted,  as  it  were,  by  a 
whirlwind  round  the  capital  by  which  they  rise  ;  while  figs.  13 
and  15  are  as  completely  living  leaves  as  any  of  the  Gothic 
time.  These  designs  may  or  may  not  be  graceful ;  what  grace 
or  beauty  they  have  is  not  to  be  rendered  in  mere  outline, — 
but  they  are  indisputably  more  natural  than  any  Greek  ones, 
and  therefore  healthier,  and  tending  to  greatness. 

§  xxi.  In  the  second  place,  note  in  all  these  examples,  the 
excessive  breadth  of  the  masses,  however  afterwards  they  may 
be  filled  with  detail.  Whether  we  examine  the  contour  of  the 
simple  convex  bells,  or  those  of  the  leaves  which  bend  out- 
wards from  the  richer  and  more  Corinthian  types,  we  find  they 


136 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


are  all  outlined  by  grand  and  simple  curves,  and  that  the 
whole  of  their  minute  fretwork  and  thistle-work  is  cast  into  a 
gigantic  mould  which  subdues  all  their  multitudinous  points 
and  foldings  to  its  own  inevitable  dominion.  And  the  fact  is, 
that  in  the  sweeping  lines  and  broad  surfaces  of  these  Byzan- 
tine sculptures  we  obtain,  so  far  as  I  know,  for  the  first  time 
in  the  history  of  art,  the  germ  of  that  unity  of  perfect  ease  in 
every  separate  part,  with  perfect  subjection  to  an  enclosing 
form  or  directing  impulse,  which  was  brought  to  its  most  in- 
tense expression  in  the  compositions  of  the  two  men  in  whom 
the  art  of  Italy  consummated  itself  and  expired — Tintoret  and 
Michael  Angelo. 

I  would  not  attach  too  much  importance  to  the  mere  habit 
of  working  on  the  rounded  surface  of  the  stone,  which  is  often 
as  much  the  result  of  haste  or  rudeness  as  of  the  desire  for 
breadth,  though  the  result  obtained  is  not  the  less  beautiful. 
But  in  the  capital  from  the  Fondaco  de'  Turchi,  fig.  6,  it  will 
bs  seen  that  while  the  sculptor  had  taken  the  utmost  care  to 
make  his  leaves  free,  graceful,  and  sharp  in  effect,  he  was  dis- 
satisfied with  their  separation,  and  could  not  rest  until  he  had 
enclosed  them  with  an  unbroken  line,  like  that  of  a  pointed 
arch  ;  and  the  same  thing  is  done  in  many  different  ways  in 
other  capitals  of  the  same  building,  and  in  many  of  St.  Mark's : 
but  one  such  instance  would  have  been  enough  to  prove,  if  the 
loveliness  of  the  profiles  themselves  did  not  do  so,  that  the 
sculptor  understood  and  loved  the  laws  of  generalization  ;  and 
that  the  feeling  which  bound  his  prickly  leaves,  as  they  waved 
or  drifted  round  the  ridges  of  his  capital,  into  those  broad 
masses  of  unbroken  flow,  was  indeed  one  with  that  which 
made  Michael  Angelo  encompass  the  principal  figure  in  his 
Creation  of  Adam  with  the  broad  curve  of  its  cloudy  drapery. 
It  may  seem  strange  to  assert  any  connexion  between  so 
great  a  conception  and  these  rudely  hewn  fragments  of  ruined 
marble  ;  but  all  the  highest  principles  of  art  are  as  universal 
as  they  are  majestic,  and  there  is  nothing  too  small  to  receive 
their  influence.  They  rule  at  once  the  waves  of  the  mountain 
outline,  and  the  sinuosities  of  the  minutest  lichen  that  stains 
its  shattered  stones. 


BYZANTINE  PALACES. 


137 


§  xxn.  We  have  not  yet  spoken  of  the  three  braided  and 
chequered  capitals,  numbered  10,  11,  and  12.  They  are  repre- 
sentations of  a  group,  with  which  many  most  interesting  asso- 
ciations are  connected.  It  was  noticed  in  the  last  chapter,  that 
the  method  of  covering  the  exterior  of  buildings  with  thin 
l^ieces  of  marble  was  likely  to  lead  to  a  system  of  lighting  the 
interior  by  minute  perforation.  In  order  to  obtain  both  light 
and  air,  without  admitting  any  unbroken  body  of  sunshine,  in 
warm  countries,  it  became  a  constant  habit  of  the  Arabian 
architects  to  pierce  minute  and  starlike  openings  in  slabs  of 
stone  ;  and  to  employ  the  stones  so  pierced  where  the  Gothic 
architects  employ  traceries.  Internally,  the  form  of  stars 
assumed  by  the  light  as  it  entered  *  was,  in  itself,  an  exquisite 
decoration  ;  but,  externally,  it  was  felt  necessary  to  add  some 
slight  ornament  upon  the  surface  of  the  perforated  stone  ;  and 
it  was  soon  found  that,  as  the  small  perforations  had  a  ten- 
dency to  look  scattered  and  spotty,  the  most  effective  treat- 
ment of  the  intermediate  surfaces  would  be  one  which  bound 
them  together,  and  gave  unity  and  repose  to  the  pierced  and 
disturbed  stone  :  universally,  therefore,  those  intermediate 
sjmces  were  carved  into  the  semblance  of  interwoven  fillets, 
which  alternately  sank  beneath  and  rose  above  each  other  as 
they  met.  This  system  of  braided  or  woven  ornament  wTas  not 
confined  to  the  Arabs  ;  it  is  universally  pleasing  to  the  instinct 
of  mankind.  I  believe  that  nearly  all  early  ornamentation  is 
full  of  it, — more  especially,  perhaps,  Scandinavian  and  Anglo- 
Saxon  ;  and  illuminated  manuscripts  depend  upon  it  for  their 
loveliest  effects  of  intricate  color,  up  to  the  close  of  the  thir- 
teenth century.  There  are  several  very  interesting  metaphys- 
ical reasons  for  this  strange  and  unfailing  delight,  felt  in  a 
thing  so  simple.  It  is  not  often  that  any  idea  of  utility  has 
power  to  enhance  the  true  impressions  of  beauty  ;  but  it  is 
possible  that  the  enormous  importance  of  the  art  of  weaving 
to  mankind  may  give  some  interest,  if  not  actual  attractive- 
ness, to  any  type  or  image  of  the  invention  to  which  we  owe, 
at  once,  our  comfort  and  our  pride.  But  the  more  profound 
reason  lies  in  the  innate  love  of  mystery  and  unity  ;  in  the  joy 
*  Compare  li  Seven  Lamps,"  chap.  ii.  §  22. 


138 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


that  the  human  mind  has  in  contemplating  any  kind  of  maze 
or  entanglement,  so  long  as  it  can  discern,  through  its  con- 
fusion, any  guiding  clue  or  connecting  plan  :  a  pleasure  in- 
creased and  solemnized  by  some  dim  feeling  of  the  setting 
forth,  by  such  symbols,  of  the  intricacy,  and  alternate  rise  and 
fall,  subjection  and  supremacy,  of  human  fortune  ;  the 

1  '  Weave  the  warp,  and  weave  the  woof," 

of  Fate  and  Time. 

§  xxiii.  But  be  this  as  it  may,  the  fact  is  that  we  are  never 
tired  of  contemplating  this  woven  involution  ;  and  that,  in 
some  degree,  the  sublime  pleasure  which  we  have  in  watching 
the  branches  of  trees,  the  intertwining  of  the  grass,  and  the 
tracery  of  the  higher  clouds,  is  owing  to  it,  not  less  than  that 
which  we  receive  from  the  fine  meshes  of  the  robe,  the  braid- 
ing of  the  hair,  and  the  various  glittering  of  the  linked  net  or 
wreathed  chain.  Byzantine  ornamentation,  like  that  of  almost 
all  nations  in  a  state  of  progress,  is  full  of  this  kind  of  work  : 
but  it  occurs  most  conspicuously,  though  most  simply,  in  the 
minute  traceries  which  surround  their  most  solid  capitals  ; 
sometimes  merely  in  a  reticulated  veil,  as  in  the  tenth  figure 
in  the  Plate,  sometimes  resembling  a  basket,  on  the  edges  of 
which  are  perched  birds  and  other  animals.  The  diamonded 
ornament  in  the  eleventh  figure  is  substituted  for  it  in  the 
Casa  Loredan,  and  marks  a  somewhat  later  time  and  a  ten- 
dency to  the  ordinary  Gothic  chequer  ;  but  the  capitals  which 
show  it  most  definitely  are  those  already  so  often  spoken  of  as 
the  lily  capitals  of  St.  Mark's,  of  which  the  northern  one  is 
carefully  drawn  in  Plate  IX. 

§  xxiv.  These  capitals,  called  barbarous  by  our  architects, 
are  without  exception  the  most  subtle  pieces  of  composition  in 
broad  contour  which  I  have  ever  met  with  in  architecture. 
Their  profile  is  given  in  the  opposite  Plate  X.  fig.  3,  b  ;  the 
inner  line  in  the  figure  being  that  of  the  stone  behind  the  lily, 
the  outer  that  of  the  external  network,  taken  through  the 
side  of  the  capital  ;  while  fig.  3,  c  is  the  outer  profile  at  its 
angle  ;  and  the  reader  will  easily  understand  that  the  passing 


Platk  IX. — Lily  Capital  of  St.  Maiik's. 


BYZANTINE  PALACES. 


139 


of  the  one  of  these  lines  into  the  other  is  productive  of  the 
most  exquisite  and  wonderful  series  of  curvatures  possible 
within  such  compass,  no  two  views  of  the  capital  giving  the 
same  contour.  Upon  these  profoundly  studied  outlines,  as  re- 
markable for  their  grace  and  complexity  as  the  general  mass 
of  the  capital  is  for  solid  strength  and  proportion  to  its  neces- 
sary service,  the  braided  work  is  wrought  with  more  than 
usual  care ;  perhaps,  as  suggested  by  the  Marchese  Selvatico, 
with  some  idea  of  imitating  those  "  nets  of  chequer  work  and 
wreaths  of  chain  work  "  on  the  chapiters  of  Solomon's  temple, 
which  are,  I  suppose,  the  first  instances  on  record  of  an  orna- 
mentation of  this  kind  thus  applied.  The  braided  work  en- 
closes on  each  of  the  four  sides  of  the  capital  a  flower  whose 
form,  derived  from  that  of  the  lily,  though  as  usual  modified, 
in  every  instance  of  its  occurrence,  in  some  minor  particulars, 
is  generally  seen  as  represented  in  fig.  11  of  Plate  VIII.  It 
is  never  without  the  two  square  or  oblong  objects  at  the  ex- 
tremity of  the  tendrils  issuing  from  its  root,  set  like  vessels  to 
catch  the  dew  from  the  points  of  its  leaves  ;  but  I  do  not  un- 
derstand their  meaning.  The  abacus  of  the  capital  has  already 
been  given  at  a,  Plate  XVI.,  Vol.  I.  ;  but  no  amount  of  illus- 
trations or  eulogium  would  be  enough  to  make  the  reader  un- 
derstand the  perfect  beauty  of  the  thing  itself,  as  the  sun  steals 
from  interstice  to  interstice  of  its  marble  veil,  and  touches  with 
the  white  lustre  of  its  rays  at  mid-day  the  pointed  leaves  of 
its  thirsty  lilies. 

In  all  the  capitals  hitherto  spoken  of,  the  form  of  the  head 
of  the  bell  has  been  square,  and  its  varieties  of  outline  have 
been  obtained  in  the  transition  from  the  square  of  the  abacus 
to  the  circular  outline  of  the  shafts.  A  far  more  complex 
series  of  forms  results  from  the  division  of  the  bell  by  recesses 
into  separate  lobes  or  leaves,  like  those  of  a  rose  or  tulip,  which 
are  each  in  their  turn  covered  with  flowerwork  or  hollowed 
into  reticulation.  The  example  (fig.  10,  Plate  VII.)  from  St. 
Mark's  will  give  some  idea  of  the  simplest  of  these  conditions  : 
perhaps  the  most  exquisite  in  Venice,  on  the  whole,  is  the 
central  capital  of  the  upper  arcade  of  the  Fondaco  de'  Turchi. 

Such  are  the  principal  generic  conditions  of  the  Byzantine 


140 


THE  STOKES  OF  VENICE. 


capital  ;  but  the  reader  must  always  remember  thai  the 
examples  given  are  single  instances,  and  those  not  the  most 
beautiful  but  the  most  intelligible,  chosen  out  of  thousands  : 
the  designs  of  the  capitals  of  St.  Mark's  alone  would  form  a 
volume. 

§  xxv.  Of  the  archi volts  which  these  capitals  generally  sus- 
tain, details  are  given  in  the  Appendix  and  in  the  notice  of 
Venetian  doors  in  Chapter  VII.  In  the  private  palaces,  the 
ranges  of  archivolt  are  for  the  most  part  very  simple,  with 
dentilled  mouldings  ;  and  all  the  ornamental  effect  is  entrusted 
to  pieces  of  sculpture  set  in  the  wall  above  or  between  the 
arches,  in  the  manner  shown  in  Plate  XV.,  below,  Chapter 
VII.  These  pieces  of  sculpture  are  either  crosses,  upright  ob- 
longs, or  circles :  of  all  the  three  forms  an  example  is  given 
in  Plate  XI.  opposite.  The  cross  was  apparently  an  invariable 
ornament,  placed  either  in  the  centre  of  the  archivolt  of  the 
doorway,  or  in  the  centre  of  the  first  story  above  the  windows  ; 
on  each  side  of  it  the  circular  and  oblong  ornaments  were 
used  in  various  alternation.  In  too  many  instances  the  wall 
marbles  have  been  torn  away  from  the  earliest  Byzantine  pal- 
aces, so  that  the  crosses  are  left  on  their  archivolts  only.  The 
best  examples  of  the  cross  set  above  the  windows  are  found  in 
houses  of  the  transitional  period  :  one  in  the  Campo  Sta  M. 
Formosa  ;  another,  in  which  a  cross  is  placed  between  every 
window,  is  still  w7ell  preserved  in  the  Campo  Sta  Maria  Mater 
Domini ;  another,  on  the  Grand  Canal,  in  the  parish  of  the 
Apostoli,  has  two  crosses,  one  on  each  side  of  the  first  story, 
and  a  bas-relief  of  Christ  enthroned  in  the  centre  ;  and  finally, 
that  from  which  the  larger  cross  in  the  Plate  was  taken  in 
the  house  once  belonging  to  Marco  Polo,  at  St.  Giovanni  Gris- 
ostomo. 

§  xxvi.  This  cross,  though  graceful  and  rich,  and  given  be- 
cause it  happens  to  be  one  of  the  best  preserved,  is  unchar- 
acteristic in  one  respect  ;  for,  instead  of  the  central  rose  at 
the  meeting  of  the  arms,  we  usually  find  a  hand  raised  in  the 
attitude  of  blessing,  between  the  sun  and  moon,  as  in  the  two 
smaller  crosses  seen  in  the  Plate.  In  nearly  all  representation  a 
of  the  Crucifixion,  over  the  whole  of  Europe,  at  the  period  in 


BYZANTINE  PALACES. 


141 


question,  the  sun  and  the  moon  aro  introduced,  one  on  each 
side  of  the  cross — the  sun  generally,  in  paintings,  as  a  red 
star  ;  but  I  do  not  think  with  any  purpose  of  indicating  the 
darkness  at  the  time  of  the  agony  ;  especially  because,  had  this 
been  the  intention,  the  moon  ought  not  to  have  been  visible, 
since  it  could  not  have  been  in  the  heavens  during  the  day  at 
the  time  of  passover.  I  believe  rather  that  the  two  luminaries* 
are  set  there  in  order  to  express  the  entire  dependence  of  the 
heavens  and  the  earth  upon  the  work  of  the  Redemption  :  and 
this  view  is  confirmed  by  our  frequently  finding  the  sun  and 
moon  set  in  the  same  manner  beside  the  figure  of  Christ,  as 
in  the  centre  of  the  great  archivolt  of  St.  Mark's,  or  beside 
the  hand  signifying  benediction,  without  any  cross,  in  some 
other  early  archivolts  ;  *  while,  again,  not  unfrequently  they 
are  absent  from  the  symbol  of  the  cross  itself,  and  its  saving 
power  over  the  whole  of  creation  is  indicated  only  by  fresh 
leaves  springing  from  its  foot,  or  doves  feeding  beside  it  ;  and 
so  also,  in  illuminated  Bibles,  we  find  the  series  of  pictures 
representing  the  Creation  terminate  in  the  Crucifixion,  as  the 
work  by  which  all  the  families  of  created  beings  subsist,  no  less 
than  that  in  sympathy  with  which  "the  whole  creation 
groaneth  and  travaileth  in  pain  together  until  now." 

§  xxvu.  This  habit  of  placing  the  symbol  of  the  Christian 
faith  in  the  centres  of  their  palaces  was,  as  I  above  said,  uni- 
versal in  early  Venice  ;  it  does  not  cease  till  about  the  middle 
of  the  fourteenth  century.  The  other  sculptures,  which  were 
set  above  or  between  the  arches,  consist  almost  invariably  of 
groups  of  birds  or  beasts ;  either  standing  opposite  to  each 
other  with  a  small  pillar  or  spray  of  leafage  between  them,  or 
else  tearing  and  devouring  each  other.  The  multitude  of 
these  sculptures,  especially  of  the  small  ones  enclosed  in 
circles,  as  figs.  5  and  6,  Plate  XL,  which  are  now  scattered 
through  the  city  of  Venice,  is  enormous,  but  they  are  seldom 
to  be  seen  in  their  original  positions.  When  the  Byzantine 
palaces  were  destroyed,  these  fragments  were  generally  pre- 
served, and  inserted  again  in  the  walls  of  the  new  buildings, 

*  Two  of  these  are  represented  in  the  second  number  of  my  folia 
work  upon  Venice. 


142 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


with  more  or  less  attempt  at  symmetry  ;  fragments  of  friezes 
and  mouldings  being  often  used  in  the  same  manner  ;  so  that 
the  mode  of  their  original  employment  can  only  be  seen  in 
St.  Mark's,  the  Fondaco  de'  Turchi,  Braided  House,  and  one 
or  two  others.  The  most  remarkable  point  about  them  is, 
that  the  groups  of  beasts  or  birds  on  each  side  of  the  small 
pillars  bear  the  closest  possible  resemblance  to  the  group  of 
Lions  over  the  gate  of  Mycenae  ;  and  the  whole  of  the  orna- 
mentation of  that  gate,  as  far  as  I  can  judge  of  it  from  draw- 
ings, is  so  like  Byzantine  sculpture,  that  I  cannot  help  some- 
times suspecting  the  original  conjecture  of  the  French  anti- 
quarians, that  it  was  a  work  of  the  middle  ages,  to  be  not 
altogether  indefensible.  By  far  the  best  among  the  sculptures 
at  Venice  are  those  consisting  of  groups  thus  arranged  ;  the 
first  figure  in  Plate  XI.  is  one  of  those  used  on  St.  Mark's, 
and,  with  its  chain  of  wreathen  work  round  it,  is  very  char- 
acteristic of  the  finest  kind,  except  that  the  immediate  trunk 
or  pillar  often  branches  into  luxuriant  leafage,  usually  of  the 
vine,  so  that  the  whole  ornament  seems  almost  composed 
from  the  words  of  Ezekiel.  "  A  great  eagle  with  great  wings, 
long- winged,  full  of  feathers,  which  had  divers  colors,  came 
into  Lebanon,  and  took  the  highest  branch  of  the  cedar  :  He 
cropped  off  the  top  of  his  young  twigs  ;  and  carried  it  into  a 
city  of  traffic  ;  he  set  it  in  a  city  of  merchants.  He  took  also 
of  the  seed  of  the  land,  .  .  .  and  it  grew,  and  became  a 
spreading  vine  of  low  stature,  whose  branches  turned  towards 
him,  and  the  roots  thereof  ivere  under  him" 

§  xxviii.  The  groups  of  contending  and  devouring  animals 
are  always  much  ruder  in  cutting,  and  take  somewhat  the  place 
in  Byzantine  sculpture  which  the  lower  grotesques  do  in  the 
Gothic  ;  true,  though  clumsy,  grotesques  being  sometimes 
mingled  among  them,  as  four  bodies  joined  to  one  head  in  the 
centre  ;  *  but  never  showing  any  attempt  at  variety  of  inven- 
tion, except  only  in  the  effective  disposition  of  the  light  and 
shade,  and  in  the  vigor  and  thoughtfulness  of  the  touches 
which  indicate  the  plumes  of  the  birds  or  folding  of  the  leaves. 

*  The  absence  of  the  true  grotesque  spirit  in  Byzantine  work  will  he 
examined  in  the  third  chapter  of  the  third  volume. 


BYZANTINE  PALACES. 


143 


Care,  however,  is  always  taken  to  secure  variety  enough  to 
keep  the  eye  entertained,  no  two  sides  of  these  Byzantine  or- 
naments being  in  all  respects  the  same  :  for  instance,  in  the 
chainwork  round  the  first  figure  in  Plate  XL  there  are  two 
circles  enclosing  squares  on  the  left-hand  side  of  the  arch  at 
the  top,  but  two  smaller  circles  and  a  diamond  on  the  other, 
enclosing  one  square,  and  two  small  circular  spots  or  bosses  ; 
and  in  the  line  of  chain  at  the  bottom  there  is  a  circle  on  the 
right,  and  a  diamond  on  the  left,  and  so  down  to  the  working 
of  the  smallest  details.  I  have  represented  this  upper  sculpt- 
ure as  dark,  in  order  to  give  some  idea  of  the  general  effect 
of  these  ornaments  when  seen  in  shadow  against  light ;  an 
effect  much  calculated  upon  by  the  designer,  and  obtained  by 
the  use  of  a  golden  ground  formed  of  glass  mosaic  inserted  in 
the  hollows  of  the  marble.  Each  square  of  glass  has  the  leaf 
gold  upon  its  surface  protected  by  another  thin  film  of  glass 
above  it,  so  that  no  time  or  weather  can  affect  its  lustre,  until 
the  pieces  of  glass  are  bodily  torn  from  their  setting.  The 
smooth  glazed  surface  of  the  golden  ground  is  washed  by 
every  shower  of  rain,  but  the  marble  usually  darkens  into  an 
amber  color  in  process  of  time  ;  and  when  the  whole  ornament 
is  cast  into  shadow,  the  golden  surface,  being  perfectly  re- 
flective, refuses  the  darkness,  and  shows  itself  in  bright  and 
burnished  light  behind  the  dark  traceries  of  the  ornament. 
Where  the  marble  has  retained  its  perfect  whiteness,  on  the 
other  hand,  and  is  seen  in  sunshine,  it  is  shown  as  a  snowy 
tracery  on  a  golden  ground ;  and  the  alternations  and  inter- 
mingling of  these  two  effects  form  one  of  the  chief  enchant- 
ments of  Byzantine  ornamentation. 

§  xxix.  How  far  the  system  of  grounding  with  gold  and 
color,  universal  in  St.  Mark's,  was  carried  out  in  the  sculptures 
of  the  private  palaces,  it  is  now  impossible  to  say.  The  wrecks 
of  them  wrhich  remain,  as  above  noticed,  show  few  of  their 
ornamental  sculptures  in  their  original  position  ;  and  from 
those  marbles  which  were  employed  in  succeeding  buildings, 
during  the  Gothic  period,  the  fragments  of  their  mosaic 
grounds  would  naturally  rather  have  been  removed  than  re- 
stored.   Mosaic,  while  the  most  secure  of  all  decorations  it* 


144 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


carefully  watched  and  refastened  when  it  loosens,  may,  if  neg- 
lected and  exposed  to  weather,  in  process  of  time  disappear  so 
as  to  leave  no  vestige  of  its  existence.  However  this  may  have 
been,  the  assured  facts  are,  that  both  the  shafts  of  the  pillars 
and  the  facing  of  the  old  building  were  of  veined  or  variously 
colored  marble  :  the  capitals  and  sculptures  were  either,  as  they 
now  appear,  of  pure  white  marble,  relieved  upon  the  veined 
ground  ;  or,  which  is  infinitely  the  more  probable,  grounded 
in  the  richer  palaces  with  mosaic  of  gold,  in  the  inferior  ones 
with  blue  color  ;  and  only  the  leaves  and  edges  of  the  sculpt- 
ure gilded.  These  brighter  hues  were  opposed  by  bands  of 
deeper  color,  generally  alternate  russet  and  green,  in  the  archi- 
volts, — bands  which  still  remain  in  the  Casa  Loredan  and  Fon- 
daco  de'  Turchi,  and  in  a  house  in  the  Corte  del  Remer,  near 
the  Rialto,  as  well  as  in  St.  Mark's  ;  and  by  circular  disks  of 
green  serpentine  and  porphyry,  which,  together  with  the  cir- 
cular sculptures,  appear  to  have  been  an  ornament  peculiarly 
grateful  to  the  Eastern  mind,  derived  probably  in  the  first 
instance  from  the  suspension  of  shields  upon  the  wall,  as  in 
the  majesty  of  ancient  Tyre.  "  The  men  of  Arvad  with  thine 
army  were  upon  thy  walls  round  about,  and  the  Gammadins 
were  in  thy  towers  :  they  hanged  their  shields  upon  thy  walls 
round  about;  they  have  made  thy  beauty  perfect."*  The 
sweet  and  solemn  harmony  of  purple  with  various  green  (the 
same,  by  the  by,  to  which  the  hills  of  Scotland  owe  their  best 
loveliness)  remained  a  favorite  chord  of  color  with  the  Vene- 
tians, and  was  constantly  used  even  in  the  later  palaces  ;  but 
never  could  have  been  seen  in  so  great  perfection  as  when  op- 
posed to  the  pale  and  delicate  sculpture  of  the  Byzantine  time. 

§  xxx.  Such,  then,  was  that  first  and  fairest  Venice  which 
rose  out  of  the  barrenness  of  the  lagoon,  and  the  sorrow  of  her 
people  ;  a  city  of  graceful  arcades  and  gleaming  walls,  veined 
with  azure  and  warm  with  gold,  and  fretted  with  white  sculpt- 
ure like  frost  upon  forest  branches  turned  to  marble.  And 
yet,  in  this  beauty  of  her  youth,  she  was  no  city  of  thought- 
less pleasure.  There  was  still  a  sadness  of  heart  upon  her, 
and  a  depth  of  devotion,  in  which  lay  all  her  strength.  I  do 
*  Ezekiel,  xxvii.  11. 


BYZANTINE  PALACES. 


145 


not  insist  upon  the  probable  religions  signification  of  many  of 
the  sculptures  which  are  now  difficult  of  interpretation  ;  but 
the  temper  which  made  the  cross  the  principal  ornament  of 
every  building  is  not  to  be  misunderstood,  nor  can  we  fail  to 
perceive,  in  many  of  the  minor  sculptural  subjects,  meanings 
perfectly  familiar  to  the  mind  of  early  Christianity.  The  pea- 
cock, used  in  preference  to  every  other  bird,  is  the  well-known 
S}rmbol  of  the  resurrection  ;  and  when  drinking  from  a  foun- 
tain (Plate  XL  fig.  1)  or  from  a  font  (Plate  XI  fig.  5),  is,  I 
doubt  not,  also  a  type  of  the  new  life  received  in  faithful  bap- 
tism. The  vine,  used  in  preference  to  all  other  trees,  was 
equally  recognized  as,  in  all  cases,  a  type  either  of  Christ  him- 
self *  or  of  those  who  were  in  a  state  of  "visible  or  professed 
union  with  him.  The  dove,  at  its  foot,  represents  the  coming 
of  the  Comforter  ;  and  even  the  groups  of  contending  animals 
had,  probably,  a  distinct  and  universally  apprehended  refer- 
ence to  the  powers  of  evil.  But  I  lay  no  stress  on  these  more 
occult  meanings.  The  principal  circumstance  which  marks  the 
seriousness  of  the  early  Venetian  mind  is  perhaps  the  last  in 
which  the  reader  would  suppose  it  was  traceable  ; — that  love 
of  bright  and  pure  color  which,  in  a  modified  form,  was  after- 
wards the  root  of  all  the  triumph  of  the  Venetian  schools  of 
painting,  but  which,  in  its  utmost  simplicity,  was  characteris- 
tic of  the  Byzantine  period  only  ;  and  of  which,  therefore,  in 
the  close  of  our  review  of  that  period,  it  will  be  well  that  we 
should  truly  estimate  the  significance.  The  fact  is,  we  none 
of  us  enough  appreciate  the  nobleness  and  sacredness  of  color. 
Nothing  is  more  common  than  to  hear  it  spoken  of  as  a  sub- 
ordinate beauty, — nay,  even  as  the  mere  source  of  a  sensual 
pleasure ;  and  we  might  almost  believe  that  we  were  daily 
among  men  who 

M  Could  strip,  for  aught  the  prospect  yields 
To  them,  their  verdure  from  the  fields  ; 
And  take  the  radiance  from  the  clouds 
With  which  the  sun  his  setting  shrouds." 

*  Perhaps  this  type  is  in  no  place  of  Scripture  more  touchingly  used 
than  in  Lamentations,  i.  12,  where  the  word  "  afflicted"  is  rendered  in 
the  Vulgate  "  vindemiavit, '  "  vintaged." 
Vol,  II.  — 10 


146 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


But  it  is  not  so.  Such  expressions  are  used  for  the  most  part 
in  thoughtlessness  ;  and  if  the  speakers  would  only  take  the 
pains  to  imagine  what  the  world  and  their  own  existence  would 
"become,  if  the  blue  wTere  taken  from  the  sky,  and  the  gold 
from  the  sunshine,  and  the  verdure  from  the  leaves,  and  the 
crimson  from  the  blood  which  is  the  life  of  man,  the  flush 
from  the  cheek,  the  darkness  from  the  eye,  the  radiance  from 
the  hair, — if  they  could  but  see  for  an  instant,  white  human 
creatures  living  in  a  white  world, — they  would  soon  feel  what 
they  owe  to  color.  The  fact  is,  that,  of  all  God's  gifts  to  the 
sight  of  man,  color  is  the  holiest,  the  most  divine,  the  most 
solemn.  We  speak  rashly  of  gay  color,  and  sad  color,  for 
color  cannot  at  once  be  good  and  gay.  All  good  color  is  in 
some  degree  pensive,  the  loveliest  is  melancholy,  and  the  pur- 
est and  most  thoughtful  minds  are  those  which  love  color  the 
most. 

§  xxxi.  I  know  that  this  will  sound  strange  in  many  ears, 
and  will  be  especially  startling  to  those  who  have  considered 
the  subject  chiefly  with  reference  to  painting ;  for  the  great 
Venetian  schools  of  color  are  not  usually  understood  to  be 
either  pure  or  pensive,  and  the  idea  of  its  pre-eminence  is 
associated  in  nearly  every  mind  with  the  coarseness  of  Eu> 
bens,  and  the  sensualities  of  Correggio  and  Titian.  But  a 
more  comprehensive  view  of  art  will  soon  correct  this  impres- 
sion. It  will  be  discovered,  in  the  first  place,  that  the  more 
faithful  and  earnest  the  religion  of  the  painter,  the  more  pure 
and  prevalent  is  the  system  of  his  color.  It  will  be  found,  in 
the  second  place,  that  where  color  becomes  a  primal  inten- 
tion with  a  painter  otherwise  mean  or  sensual,  it  instantly 
elevates  him,  and  becomes  the  one  sacred  and  saving  element 
in  his  work.  The  very  depth  of  the  stoop  to  which  the  Vene- 
tian painters  and  Rubens  sometimes  condescend,  is  a  conse- 
quence of  their  feeling  confidence  in  the  power  of  their  color 
to  keep  them  from  falling.  They  hold  on  by  it,  as  by  a  chain 
let  down  from  heaven,  with  one  hand,  though  they  may  some- 
times seem  to  gather  dust  and  ashes  with  the  other.  And, 
in  the  last  place,  it  will  be  found  that  so  surely  as  a  painter 
is  irreligious,  thoughtless,  or  obscene  in  disposition,  so  surely 


BYZANTINE  PALACES. 


147 


is  his  coloring  cold,  gloomy,  and  valueless  The  opposite 
poles  of  art  in  this  respect  are  Fra  Angelico  and  Salvator 
Kosa  ;  of  whom  the  one  was  a  man  who  smiled  seldom,  wept 
often,  prayed  constantly,  and  never  harbored  an  impure 
thought.  His  pictures  are  simply  so  many  pieces  of  jewel- 
lery, the  colors  of  the  draperies  being  perfectly  pure,  as  vari- 
ous as  those  of  a  painted  window,  chastened  only  by  paleness, 
and  relieved  upon  a  gold  ground.  Salvator  was  a  dissipated 
jester  and  satirist,  a  man  who  spent  his  life  in  masquing  and 
revelry.  But  his  pictures  are  full  of  horror,  and  their  color 
is  for  the  most  part  gloomy  grey.  Truly  it  would  seem  as  if 
art  had  so  much  of  eternity  in  it,  that  it  must  take  its  dye 
from  the  close  rather  than  the  course  of  life : — "  In  such 
laughter  the  heart  of  man  is  sorrowful,  and  the  end  of  that 
mirth  is  heaviness." 

§  xxxii.  These  are  no  singular  instances.  I  know  no  law 
more  severely  without  exception  than  this  of  the  connexion 
of  pure  color  with  profound  and  noble  thought.  The  late 
Flemish  pictures,  shallow  in  conception  and  obscene  in  sub- 
ject, are  always  sober  in  color.  But  the  early  religious  paint- 
ing of  the  Flemings  is  as  brilliant  in  hue  as  it  is  holy  in 
thought.  The  Bellinis,  Francias,  Peruginos  painted  in  crim- 
son, and  blue,  and  gold.  The  Caraccis,  Guidos,  and  Kem- 
brandts  in  brown  and  grey.  The  builders  of  our  great  cathe- 
drals veiled  their  casements  and  wrapped  their  pillars  with 
one  robe  of  purple  splendor.  The  builders  of  the  luxurious 
Renaissance  left  their  palaces  filled  only  with  cold  white  light, 
and  in  the  paleness  of  their  native  stone.* 

§  xxxiii.  Nor  does  it  seem  difficult  to  discern  a  noble  rea- 
son for  this  universal  law.  In  that  heavenly  circle  which 
binds  the  statutes  of  color  upon  the  front  of  the  sky,  when  it 
became  the  sign  of  the  covenant  of  peace,  the  pure  hues  of 
divided  light  were  sanctified  to  the  human  heart  for  ever ;  nor 
this,  it  would  seem,  by  mere  arbitrary  appointment,  but  in 
consequence  of  the  fore-ordained  and  marvellous  constitution 
of  those  hues  into  a  sevenfold,  or,  more  strictly  still,  a  three-* 
fold  order,  typical  of  the  Divine  nature  itself.  Observe  also 
*  Appendix  12,  " Modern  Fainting  on  Glass." 


148 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


the  name  Shem,  or  Splendor,  given  to  that  son  of  Noah  in 
whom  this  covenant  with  mankind  was  to  be  fulfilled,  and 
see  how  that  name  was  justified  by  every  one  of  the  Asiatic 
races  which  descended  from  him.  Not  without  meaning  was 
the  love  of  Israel  to  his  chosen  son  expressed  by  the  coat  "  of 
many  colors  ; "  not  without  deep  sense  of  the  sacredness  of 
that  symbol  of  purity,  did  the  lost  daughter  of  David  tear  it 
from  her  breast : — "  With  such  robes  were  the  king's  daugh- 
ters that  were  virgins  apparelled."  *  "We  know  it  to  have 
been  by  Divine  command  that  the  Israelite,  rescued  from  ser- 
vitude, veiled  the  tabernacle  with  its  rain  of  purple  and  scar- 
let, while  the  under  sunshine  flashed  through  the  fall  of  the 
color  from  its  tenons  of  gold  :  but  was  it  less  by  Divine 
guidance  that  the  Mede,  as  he  struggled  out  of  anarchy,  en- 
compassed his  king  with  the  sevenfold  burning  of  the  battle- 
ments of  Ecbatana  ? — of  which  one  circle  was  golden  like  the 
sun,  and  another  silver  like  the  moon  ;  and  then  came  the 
great  sacred  chord  of  color,  blue,  purple,  and  scarlet  ;  and 
then  a  circle  white  like  the  day,  and  another  dark,  like  night ; 
so  that  the  city  rose  like  a  great  mural  rainbow,  a  sign  of 
peace  amidst  the  contending  of  lawless  races,  and  guarded, 
with  color  and  shadow,  that  seemed  to  symbolize  the  great 
order  which  rules  over  Day,  and  Night,  and  Time,  the  first 
organization  of  the  mighty  statutes, — the  law  of  the  Medes 
and  Persians,  that  altereth  not. 

§  xxxiv.  Let  us  not  dream  that  it  is  owing  to  the  accidents 
of  tradition  or  education  that  those  races  possess  the  suprem- 
acy over  color  which  has  always  been  felt,  though  but  lately 
acknowledged  among  men.  However  their  dominion  might 
be  broken,  their  virtue  extinguished,  or  their  religion  defiled, 
they  retained  alike  the  instinct  and  the  power  :  the  instinct 
which  made  even  their  idolatry  more  glorious  than  that  of 
others,  bursting  forth  in  fire-worship  from  pyramid,  cave,  and 
mountain,  taking  the  stars  for  the  rulers  of  its  fortune,  and 
the  sun  for  the  God  of  its  life  ;  the  power  which  so  dazzled 
and  subdued  the  rough  crusader  into  forgetfulness  of  sorrow 
and  of  shame,  that  Europe  put  on  the  splendor  which  she  had 
*  2  Samuel,  xiii.  18. 


BYZANTINE  PALACES. 


149 


learnt  of  the  Saracen,  as  her  sackcloth  of  mourning  for  what 
she  suffered  from  his  sword  ; — the  power  which  she  confesses 
to  this  day,  in  the  utmost  thoughtlessness  of  her  pride,  or  her 
beauty,  as  it  treads  the  costly  carpet,  or  veils  itself  with  the 
variegated  Cachemire  ;  and  in  the  emulation  of  the  concourse 
of  her  workmen,  who,  but  a  few  months  back,  perceived,  or  at 
least  admitted,  for  the  first  time,  the  pre-eminence  which  has 
been  determined  from  the  birth  of  mankind,  and  on  whose 
charter  Nature  herself  has  set  a  mysterious  seal,  granting  to 
the  Western  races,  descended  from  that  son  of  Noah  whose 
name  was  Extension,  the  treasures  of  the  sullen  rock,  and 
stubborn  ore,  and  gnarled  forest,  which  were  to  accomplish 
their  destiny  across  all  distance  of  earth  and  depth  of  sea, 
while  she  matured  the  jewel  in  the  sand,  and  rounded  the 
pearl  in  the  shell,  to  adorn  the  diadem  of  him  whose  name 
was  Splendor. 

§  xxxv.  And  observe,  farther,  how  in  the  Oriental  mind  a 
peculiar  seriousness  is  associated  with  this  attribute  of  the 
love  of  color  ;  a  seriousness  rising  out  of  repose,  and  out  of 
the  depth  and  breadth  of  the  imagination,  as  contrasted  with 
the  activity,  and  consequent  capability  of  surprise,  and  of 
laughter,  characteristic  of  the  Western  mind :  as  a  man  on  a 
journey  must  look  to  his  steps  always,  and  view  things  nar- 
rowly and  quickly  ;  while  one  at  rest  may  command  a  wider 
view,  though  an  unchanging  one,  from  which  the  pleasure  he 
receives  must  ha  one  of  contemplation,  rather  than  of  amuse- 
ment or  surprise.  Wherever  the  pure  Oriental  spirit  mani- 
fests itself  definitely,  I  believe  its  work  is  serious ;  and  the 
meeting  of  the  influences  of  the  Eastern  and  Western  races  is 
perhaps  marked  in  Europe  more  by  the  dying  away  of  the 
grotesque  laughter  of  the  Goth  than  by  any  other  sign.  I 
shall  have  more  to  say  on  this  head  in  other  places  of  this 
volume  ;  but  the  point  I  wish  at  present  to  impress  upon  the 
reader  is,  that  the  bright  hues  of  the  early  architecture  of 
Venice  were  no  sign  of  gaiety  of  heart,  and  that  the  investi- 
ture with  the  mantle  of  many  colors  by  which  she  is  known 
above  all  other  cities  of  Italy  and  of  Europe,  was  not  granted 
to  her  in  the  fever  of  her  festivity,  but  in  the  solemnity  of  her 


150 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


early  and  earnest  religion.  She  became  in  after  times  the 
revel  of  the  earth,  the  masque  of  Italy  ;  and  therefore  is  she 
now  desolate  :  but  her  glorious  robe  of  gold  and  purple  was 
given  her  when  first  she  rose  a  vestal  from  the  sea,  not 
when  she  became  drunk  with  the  wine  of  her  fornication. 

§  xxxvi.  And  we  have  never  yet  looked  with  enough  rever- 
ence upon  the  separate  gift  which  was  thus  bestowed  upon 
her ;  we  have  never  enough  considered  what  an  inheritance 
she  has  left  us,  in  the  w^orks  of  those  mighty  painters  who 
were  the  chief  of  her  children.  That  inheritance  is  indeed 
less  than  it  ought  to  have  been,  and  other  than  it  ought  to 
have  been  ;  for  before  Titian  and  Tintoret  arose, — the  men  in 
whom  her  work  and  her  glory  should  have  been  together  con- 
summated,— she  had  already  ceased  to  lead  her  sons  in  the 
way  of  truth  and  life,  and  they  erred  much,  and  fell  short  of 
that  wThich  was  appointed  for  them.  There  is  no  subject  of 
thought  more  melancholy,  more  wonderful,  than  the  way  in 
which  God  permits  so  often  His  best  gifts  to  be  trodden  under 
foot  of  men,  His  richest  treasures  to  be  wasted  by  the  moth, 
and  the  mightiest  influences  of  His  Spirit,  given  but  once  in 
the  world's  history,  to  be  quenched  and  shortened  by  miseries 
of  chance  and  guilt.  I  do  not  wonder  at  what  men  Suffer, 
but  I  wonder  often  at  what  they  Lose.  We  may  see  how  good 
rises  out  of  pain  and  evil ;  but  the  dead,  naked,  eyeless  loss, 
what  good  comes  of  that  ?  The  fruit  struck  to  the  earth  before 
its  ripeness ;  the  glowing  life  and  goodly  purpose  dissolved 
away  in  sudden  death  ;  the  words,  half  spoken,  choked  upon 
the  lips  with  clay  for  ever ;  or,  stranger  than  all,  the  whole 
majesty  of  humanity  raised  to  its  fulness,  and  every  gift  and 
power  necessary  for  a  given  purpose,  at  a  given  moment, 
centred  in  one  man,  and  all  this  perfected  blessing  permitted 
to  be  refused,  perverted,  crushed,  cast  aside  by  those  who 
need  it  most, — the  city  which  is  Not  set  on  a  hill,  the  candle 
that  giveth  light  to  None  that  are  in  the  house  : — these  are 
the  heaviest  mysteries  of  this  strange  world,  and,  it  seems  to 
me,  those  which  mark  its  curse  the  most.  And  it  is  true  that 
the  power  with  which  this  Venice  had  been  entrusted,  was 
perverted,  when  at  its  highest,  in  a  thousand  miserable  ways  ; 


BYZANTINE  PALACES. 


151 


still,  it  was  possessed  by  her  alone  ;  to  her  all  hearts  have 
turned  which  could  be  moved  by  its  manifestation,  and  none 
without  being  made  stronger  and  nobler  by  what  her  hand 
had  wrought.  That  mighty  Landscape,  of  dark  mountains 
that  guard  the  horizon  with  their  purple  towers,  and  solemn 
forests,  that  gather  their  weight  of  leaves,  bronzed  with  sun- 
shine, not  with  age,  into  those  gloomy  masses  fixed  in  heaven, 
which  storm  and  frost  have  power  no  more  to  shake,  or  shed ; 
— that  mighty  Humanity,  so  perfect  and  so  proud,  that  hides 
no  weakness  beneath  the  mantle,  and  gains  no  greatness  from 
the  diadem  ;  the  majesty  of  thoughtful  form,  on  which  the 
dust  of  gold  and  flame  of  jewels  are  dashed  as  the  sea-spray 
upon  the  rock,  and  still  the  great  Manhood  seems  to  stand 
bare  against  the  blue  sky  ; — that  mighty  Mythology,  which 
fills  the  daily  walks  of  men  with  spiritual  companionship,  and 
beholds  the  protecting  angels  break  with  their  burning  pres- 
ence through  the  arrow-flights  of  battle  : — measure  the  com- 
pass of  that  field  of  creation,  weigh  the  value  of  the  inheri- 
tance that  Venice  thus  left  to  the  nations  of  Europe,  and  then 
judge  if  so  vast,  so  beneficent  a  power  could  indeed  have  been 
rooted  in  dissipation  or  decay.  It  was  when  she  wore  the 
ephod  of  the  priest,  not  the  motley  of  the  masquer,  that  the 
fire  fell  upon  her  from  heaven  ;  and  she  saw  the  first  rays  of 
it  through  the  rain  of  her  own  tears,  when,  as  the  barbaric 
deluge  ebbed  from  the  hills  of  Italy,  the  circuit  of  her  palaces, 
and  the  orb  of  her  fortunes,  rose  together,  like  the  Iris,  painted 
upon  the  Cloud. 


SECOND,  OR  GOTHIC,  PERIOD. 


Chapter  vl 

THE  NATURE  OF  GOTHIC. 

§  t  If  the  reader  will  look  back  to  the  division  of  our  suT> 
ject  which  was  made  in  the  first  chapter  of  the  first  volume,  he 
will  find  that  we  are  now  about  to  enter  upon  the  examination 
of  that  school  of  Venetian  architecture  which  forms  an  inter- 
mediate step  between  the  Byzantine  and  Gothic  forms ;  but 
which  I  find  may  be  conveniently  considered  in  its  connexion 
with  the  latter  style.  In  order  that  we  may  discern  the  ten- 
dency of  each  step  of  this  change,  it  will  be  wise  in  the  outset 
to  endeavor  to  form  some  general  idea  of  its  final  result.  We 
know  already  what  the  Byzantine  architecture  is  from  which 
the  transition  was  made,  but  we  ought  to  know  something  of 
the  Gothic  architecture  into  which  it  led.  I  shall  endeavor 
therefore  to  give  the  reader  in  this  chapter  an  idea,  at  once 
broad  and  definite,  of  the  true  nature  of  Gothic  architecture, 
properly  so  called  ;  not  of  that  of  Venice  only,  but  of  univer- 
sal Gothic  :  for  it  will  be  one  of  the  most  interesting  parts  of 
our  subsequent  inquiry,  to  find  out  how  far  Venetian  archi- 
tecture reached  the  universal  or  perfect  type  of  Gothic,  and 
how  far  it  either  fell  short  of  it,  or  assumed  foreign  and  inde- 
pendent forms. 

§  ii.  The  principal  difficulty  in  doing  this  arises  from  the 
fact  that  every  building  of  the  Gothic  period  diners  in  some 
important  respect  from  every  other  ;  and  many  include  feat- 
ures which,  if  they  occurred  in  other  buildings,  would  not  be 
considered  Gothic  at  all  ;  so  that  all  we  have  to  reason  upon 
is  merely,  if  I  may  be  allowed  so  to  express  it,  a  greater  or  less 


THE  NATURE  OF  GOTHIC. 


158 


degree  of  Gothicness  in  each  building  we  examine.  And  it  is 
this  Gothicness, — the  character  which,  according  as  it  is  found 
more  or  less  in  a  building,  makes  it  more  or  less  Gothic, — of 
which  I  wrant  to  define  the  nature  ;  and  I  feel  the  same  kind 
of  difficulty  in  doing  so  which  would  be  encountered  by  any 
one  who  undertook  to  explain,  for  instance,  the  nature  of  Bed- 
ness,  without  any  actual  red  thing  to  point  to,  but  only  orange 
and  purple  things.  Suppose  he  had  only  a  piece  of  heather 
and  a  dead  oak-leaf  to  do  it  with.  He  might  say,  the  color 
which  is  mixed  with  the  yellow  in  this  oak-leaf,  and  with  the 
blue  in  this  heather,  would  be  red,  if  you  had  it  separate  ;  but 
it  would  be  difficult,  nevertheless,  to  make  the  abstraction  per- 
fectly intelligible  :  and  it  is  so  in  a  far  greater  degree  to  make 
the  abstraction  of  the  Gothic  character  intelligible,  because 
that  character  itself  is  made  up  of  many  mingled  ideas,  and 
can  consist  only  in  their  union.  That  is  to  say,  pointed  arches 
do  not  constitute  Gothic,  nor  vaulted  roofs,  nor  flying  but- 
tresses, nor  grotesque  sculptures ;  but  all  or  some  of  these 
things,  and  many  other  things  with  them,  when  they  come 
together  so  as  to  have  life. 

§  in.  Observe  also,  that,  in  the  definition  proposed,  I  shall 
only  endeavor  to  analyze  the  idea  which  I  suppose  already  to 
exist  in  the  reader's  mind.  We  all  have  some  notion,  most  of 
us  a  very  determined  one,  of  the  meaning  of  the  term  Gothic  ; 
but  I  know  that  many  persons  have  this  idea  in  their  minds 
without  being  able  to  define  it :  that  is  to  say,  understanding 
generally  that  Westminster  Abbey  is  Gothic,  and  St.  Paul's  is 
not,  that  Strasburg  Cathedral  is  Gothic,  and  St.  Peter's  is  not, 
they  have,  nevertheless,  no  clear  notion  of  what  it  is  that 
they  recognize  in  the  one  or  miss  in  the  other,  such  as  would 
enable  them  to  say  how  far  the  work  at  Westminster  or  Stras- 
burg is  good  and  pure  of  its  kind  :  still  less  to  say  of  any  non- 
descript building,  like  St.  James's  Palace  or  Windsor  Castle, 
how  much  right  Gothic  element  there  is  in  it,  and  how  much 
wanting.  And  I  believe  this  inquiry  to  be  a  pleasant  and  prof- 
itable one  ;  and  that  there  will  be  found  something  more  than 
usually  interesting  in  tracing  out  this  grey,  shadowy,  manv- 
pinnacled  image  of  the  Gothic  spirit  within  us  ;  and  discern- 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


ing  what  fellowship  there  is  between  it  and  our  Northern 
hearts.  And  if,  at  any  point  of  the  inquiry,  I  should  interfere 
with  any  of  the  reader's  previously  formed  conceptions,  and 
use  the  term  Gothic  in  any  sense  which  he  would  not  will- 
ingly attach  to  it,  I  do  not  ask  him  to  accept,  but  only  to  ex- 
amine and  understand,  my  interpretation,  as  necessary  to  the 
intelligibility  of  what  follows  in  the  rest  of  the  work. 

§  iv.  We  have,  then,  the  Gothic  character  submitted  to  our 
analysis,  just  as  the  rough  mineral  is  submitted  to  that  of  the 
chemist,  entangled  with  many  other  foreign  substances,  itself 
perhaps  in  no  place  pure,  or  ever  to  be  obtained  or  seen  in 
purity  for  more  than  an  instant ;  but  nevertheless  a  thing  of 
definite  and  separate  nature,  however  inextricable  or  confused 
in  appearance.  Now  observe  :  the  chemist  defines  his  mineral 
by  two  separate  kinds  of  character  ;  one  external,  its  crystal- 
line form,  hardness,  lustre,  &c.  ;  the  other  internal,  the  pro- 
portions and  nature  of  its  constituent  atoms.  Exactly  in  the 
same  manner,  we  shall  find  that  Gothic  architecture  has  ex- 
ternal forms,  and  internal  elements.  Its  elements  are  certain 
mental  tendencies  of  the  builders,  legibly  expressed  in  it ;  as 
fancif ulness,  love  of  variety,  love  of  richness,  and  such  others. 
Its  external  forms  are  pointed  arches,  vaulted  roofs,  &c.  And 
unless  both  the  elements  and  the  forms  are  there,  we  have  no 
right  to  call  the  style  Gothic.  It  is  not  enough  that  it  has  the 
Form,  if  it  have  not  also  the  power  and  life.  It  is  not  enough 
that  it  has  the  Power,  if  it  have  not  the  form.  We  must  there- 
fore inquire  into  each  of  these  characters  successively  ;  and 
determine  first,  what  is  the  Mental  Expression,  and  secondly, 
what  the  Material  Form,  of  Gothic  architecture,  properly  so 
called. 

1st.  Mental  Power  or  Expression.  What  characters,  we 
have  to  discover,  did  the  Gothic  builders  love,  or  instinctively 
express  in  their  wort,  as  distinguished  from  all  other  builders  ? 

§  v.  Let  us  go  back  for  a  moment  to  our  chemistry,  and 
note  that,  in  defining  a  mineral  by  its  constituent  parts,  it  is 
not  one  nor  another  of  them,  that  can  make  up  the  mineral, 
but  the  union  of  all :  for  instance,  it  is  neither  in  charcoal,  nor 
in  oxygen,  nor  in  lime,  that  there  is  the  making  of  chalk,  but 


THE  NATURE  OF  GOTHIC. 


155 


in  the  combination  of  all  three  in  certain  measures  ,  they  are 
all  found  in  very  different  things  from  chalk,  and  there  is 
nothing  like  chalk  either  in  charcoal  or  in  oxygen,  but  they 
are  nevertheless  necessary  to  its  existence. 

So  in  the  various  mental  characters  which  make  up  the  soul 
of  Gothic.  It  is  not  one  nor  another  that  produces  it  ;  but 
ilieir  union  in  certain  measures.  Each  one  of  them  is  found 
m  many  other  architectures  besides  Gothic  ;  but  Gothic  can- 
not exist  where  they  are  not  found,  or,  at  least,  where  their 
place  is  not  in  some  way  supplied.  Only  there  is  this  great 
difference  between  the  composition  of  the  mineral,  and  of  the 
architectural  style,  that  if  we  withdraw  one  of  its  elements 
from  the  stone,  its  form  is  utterly  changed,  and  its  existence 
as  such  and  such  a  mineral  is  destroyed  ;  but  if  we  withdraw 
one  of  its  mental  elements  from  the  Gothic  style,  it  is  only  a 
little  less  Gothic  than  it  was  before,  and  the  union  of  two  or 
three  of  its  elements  is  enough  already  to  bestow  a  certain 
Gothicness  of  character,  which  gains  in  intensity  as  we  add 
the  others,  and  loses  as  we  again  withdraw  them. 

§  vi.  I  believe,  then,  that  the  characteristic  or  moral  ele- 
ments of  Gothic  are  the  following,  placed  in  the  order  of  their 
importance  : 

1.  Savageness.  4.  Grotesqueness. 

2.  Changefulness.  5.  Rigidity. 

3.  Naturalism.  6.  Redundance. 

These  characters  are  here  expressed  as  belonging  to  the 
building  ;  as  belonging  to  the  builder,  they  would  be  expressed 
thus  :  1.  Savageness,  or  Rudeness.  2.  Love  of  Change.  3. 
Love  of  Nature.  4.  Disturbed  Imagination.  5.  Obstinacy. 
6.  Generosity.  And  I  repeat,  that  the  withdrawal  of  any  one, 
or  any  two,  will  not  at  once  destroy  the  Gothic  character  of  a 
building,  but  the  removal  of  a  majority  of  them  will.  I  shall 
proceed  to  examine  them  in  their  order. 

§  vii.  1.  Savageness.  I  am  not  sure  when  the  word 
"  Gothic  "  was  first  gen erically  applied  to  the  architecture  of 
the  North  ;  but  I  presume  that,  whatever  the  date  of  its  orig' 
inal  usage,  it  was  intended  to  imply  reproach,  and  express 


156 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE, 


the  barbaric  character  of  the  nations  among  whom  that  ar- 
chitecture arose.  It  never  implied  that  they  were  literally  of 
Gothic  lineage,  far  less  that  their  architecture  had  been  orig- 
inally invented  by  the  Goths  themselves  ;  but  it  did  imply 
that  they  and  their  buildings  together  exhibited  a  degree  of 
sternness  and  rudeness,  which,  in  contradistinction  to  the 
character  of  Southern  and  Eastern  nations,  appeared  like  a  per- 
petual reflection  of  the  contrast  between  the  Goth  and  the 
Roman  in  their  first  encounter.  And  when  that  fallen  Roman, 
in  the  utmost  impotence  of  his  luxury,  and  insolence  of  his  guilt, 
became  the  model  for  the  imitation  of  civilized  Europe,  at  the 
close  of  the  so-called  Dark  ages,  the  word  Gothic  became  a 
term  of  unmitigated  contempt,  not  unmixed  with  aversion. 
From  that  contempt,  by  the  exertion  of  the  antiquaries  and 
architects  of  this  century,  Gothic  architecture  has  been  suffi- 
ciently vindicated  ;  and  perhaps  some  among  us,  in  our  ad- 
miration of  the  magnificent  science  of  its  structure,  and  sacred- 
ness  of  its  expression,  might  desire  that  the  term  of  ancient 
reproach  should  be  withdrawn,  and  some  other,  of  more  ap- 
parent honorableness,  adopted  in  its  place.  There  is  no  chance, 
as  there  is  no  need,  of  such  a  substitution.  As  far  as  the  epithet 
was  used  scornfully,  it  was  used  falsely  ;  but  there  is  no  re- 
proach in  the  word,  rightly  understood  ;  on  the  contrary,  there 
is  a  profound  truth,  which  the  instinct  of  mankind  almost  un- 
consciously recognizes.  It  is  true,  greatly  and  deeply  true, 
that  the  architecture  of  the  North  is  rude  and  wild  ;  but  it 
is  not  true,  that,  for  this  reason,  we  are  to  condemn  it,  or  de- 
spise. Ear  otherwise  :  I  believe  it  is  in  this  very  character 
that  it  deserves  our  profound  est  reverence. 

§  viii.  The  charts  of  the  world  which  have  been  drawn  up 
by  modern  science  have  thrown  into  a  narrow  space  the  ex- 
pression of  a  vast  amount  of  knowledge,  but  I  have  never  yet 
seen  any  one  pictorial  enough  to  enable  the  spectator  to  im- 
agine the  kind  of  contrast  in  physical  character  which  exists 
between  Northern  and  Southern  countries.  We  know  the  dif- 
ferences in  detail,  but  we  have  not  that  broad  glance  and 
grasp  which  would  enable  us  to  feel  them  in  their  fulness. 
We  know  that  gentians  grow  on  the  Alps,  and  olives  on  the 


THE  NATURE  OF  GOTHIC. 


157 


Apennines  ;  but  we  do  not  enough  conceive  for  ourselves  that 
variegated  mosaic  of  the  world's  surface  which  a  bird  sees  in 
its  migration,  that  difference  between  the  district  of  the  gen- 
tian and  of  the  olive  which  the  stork  and  the  swallow  see  far 
off,  as  they  lean  upon  the  sirocco  wind.  Let  us,  for  a  moment, 
try  to  raise  ourselves  even  above  the  level  of  their  flight,  and 
imagine  the  Mediterranean  lying  beneath  us  like  an  irregular 
Like,  and  all  its  ancient  promontories  sleeping  in  the  sun : 
here  and  there  an  angry  spot  of  thunder,  a  grey  stain  of  storm, 
moving  upon  the  burning  field ;  and  here  and  there  a  fixed 
wreath  of  white  volcano  smoke,  surrounded  by  its  circle  of 
ashes  ;  but  for  the  most  part  a  great  peacefulness  of  light, 
Syria  and  Greece,  Italy  and  Spain,  laid  like  pieces  of  a  golden 
pavement  into  the  sea-blue,  chased,  as  we  stoop  nearer  to 
them,  with  bossy  beaten  work  of  mountain  chains,  and  glow- 
ing softly  with  terraced  gardens,  and  flowers  heavy  with  frank- 
incense, mixed  among  masses  of  laurel,  and  orange  and  plumy 
palm,  that  abate  with  their  grey-green  shadows  the  burning  of 
the  marble  rocks,  and  of  the  ledges  of  porphyry  sloping  under 
lucent  sand.  Then  let  us  pass  farther  towards  the.  north, 
until  we  see  the  orient  colors  change  gradually  into  a  vast  belt 
of  rainy  green,  where  the  pastures  of  Switzerland,  and  poplar 
valleys  of  France,  and  dark  forests  of  the  Danube  and  Carpa- 
thians stretch  from  the  mouths  of  the  Loire  to  those  of  the 
Volga,  seen  through  clefts  in  grey  swirls  of  rain-cloud  and 
flaky  veils  of  the  mist  of  the  brooks,  spreading  low  along  the 
pasture  lands  :  and  then,  farther  north  still,  to  see  the  earth 
heave  into  mighty  masses  of  leaden  rock  and  heathy  moor, 
bordering  with  a  broad  waste  of  gloomy  purple  that  belt  of 
field  and  wood,  and  splintering  into  irregular  and  grisly  islands 
amidst  the  northern  seas,  beaten  by  storm  and  chilled  by  ice- 
drift,  and  tormented  by  furious  pulses  of  contending  tide, 
until  the  roots  of  the  last  forests  fail  from  among  the  hill 
ravines,  and  the  hunger  of  the  north  wind  bites  their  peaks 
into  barrenness  ;  and,  at  last,  the  wall  of  ice,  durable  like  iron, 
sets,  deathlike,  its  white  teeth  against  us  out  of  the  polar  twi- 
light. And,  having  once  traversed  in  thought  its  gradation  of 
the  zoned  iris  of  the  earth  in  all  its  material  vastness,  let  us 


158 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


go  down  nearer  to  it,  and  watch  the  parallel  change  in  the 
belt  of  animal  life :  the  multitudes  of  swift  and  brilliant 
creatures  that  glance  in  the  air  and  sea,  or  tread  the  sands  of 
the  southern  zone  ;  striped  zebras  and  spotted  leopards,  glis- 
tening serpents,  and  birds  arrayed  in  purple  and  scarlet.  Let 
us  contrast  their  delicacy  and  brilliancy  of  color,  and  swiftness 
of  motion,  with  the  frost- cramped  strength,  and  shaggy  cov- 
ering, and  dusky  plumage  of  the  northern  tribes;  contrast  the 
Arabian  horse  with  the  Shetland,  the  tiger  and  leopard  with 
the  wolf  and  bear,  the  antelope  with  the  elk,  the  bird  of  para- 
dise with  the  osprey :  and  then,  submissively  acknowledging 
the  great  laws  by  which  the  earth  and  all  that  it  bears  are 
ruled  throughout  their  being,  let  us  not  condemn,  but  rejoice 
at  the  expression  by  man  of  his  own  rest  in  the  statutes  of 
the  lands  that  gave  him  birth.  Let  us  watch  him  with  rever- 
ence as  he  sets  side  by  side  the  burning  gems,  and  smoothes 
with  soft  sculpture  the  jasper  pillars,  that  are  to  reflect  a  cease- 
less sunshine,  and  rise  into  a  cloudless  sky  :  but  not  with  less 
reverence  let  us  stand  by  him,  when,  with  rough  strength  and 
hurried  stroke,  he  smites  an  uncouth  animation  out  of  the 
rocks  which  he  has  torn  from  among  the  moss  of  the  moor- 
land, and  heaves  into  the  darkened  air  the  pile  of  iron  buttress 
and  rugged  wall,  instinct  with  work  of  an  imagination  as 
wild  and  wayward  as  the  northern  sea ;  creations  of  un- 
gainly shape  and  rigid  limb,  but  full  of  wolfish  life ;  fierce  as 
the  winds  that  beat,  and  changeful  as  the  clouds  that  shade 
them. 

There  is,  I  repeat,  no  degradation,  no  reproach  in  this,  but 
all  dignity  and  honorableness  ;  and  we  should  err  grievously 
in  refusing  either  to  recognise  as  an  essential  character  of  the 
existing  architecture  of  the  North,  or  to  admit  as  a  desirable 
character  in  that  which  it  yet  may  be,  this  wildness  of  thought, 
and  roughness  of  work ;  this  look  of  mountain  brotherhood 
between  the  cathedral  and  the  Alp  ;  this  magnificence  of  sturdy 
power,  put  forth  only  the  more  energetically  because  the  fine 
finger-touch  was  chilled  away  by  the  frosty  wind,  and  the  eye 
dimmed  by  the  moor-mist,  or  blinded  by  the  hail  ;  this  out- 
speaking of  the  strong  spirit  of  men  wrho  may  not  gather  re- 


TEE  NATURE  OF  GOTHIC. 


159 


dundant  fruitage  from  the  earth,  nor  bask  in  dreamy  benignity 
of  sunshine,  but  must  break  the  rock  for  bread,  and  cleave  the 
forest  for  fire,  and  show,  even  in  what  they  did  for  their  de- 
light, some  of  the  hard  habits  of  the  arm  and  heart  that  grew 
on  them  as  they  swung  the  axe  or  pressed  the  plough. 

§  ix.  If,  however,  the  savageness  of  Gothic  architecture, 
merely  as  an  expression  of  its  origin  among  Northern  nation s> 
may  be  considered,  in  some  sort,  a  noble  character,  it  possesses 
a  higher  nobility  still,  when  considered  as  an  index,  not  of  cli- 
mate, but  of  religious  principle. 

In  the  13th  and  14th  paragraphs  of  Chapter  XXI.  of  the 
first  volume  of  this  work,  it  was  noticed  that  the  systems  of 
architectural  ornament,  properly  so  called,  might  be  divided 
into  three  : — 1.  Servile  ornament,  in  which  the  execution  or 
power  of  the  inferior  workman  is  entirety  subjected  to  the  in- 
tellect of  the  higher : — 2.  Constitutional  ornament,  in  which 
the  executive  inferior  power  is,  to  a  certain  point,  emancipated 
and  independent,  having  a  will  of  its  own,  yet  confessing  its 
inferiority  and  rendering  obedience  to  higher  powers  ; — and 
3.  Revolutionary  ornament,  in  which  no  executive  inferiority 
is  admitted  at  all.  I  must  here  explain  the  nature  of  these 
divisions  at  somewhat  greater  length. 

Of  Servile  ornament,  the  principal  schools  are  the  Greek, 
Ninevite,  and  Egyptian ;  but  their  servility  is  of  different 
kinds.  The  Greek  master- workman  was  far  advanced  in 
knowledge  and  powrer  above  the  Assyrian  or  Egyptian. 
Neither  he  nor  those  for  whom  he  worked  could  endure  the 
appearance  of  imperfection  in  anything  ;  and,  therefore,  what 
ornament  he  appointed  to  be  done  by  those  beneath  him  was 
composed  of  mere  geometrical  forms, — balls,  ridges,  and  per- 
fectly symmetrical  foliage, — which  could  be  executed  with  ab- 
solute precision  by  line  and  rule,  and  were  as  perfect  in  their 
way  when  completed,  as  his  own  figure  sculpture.  The  Assyr- 
ian and  Egyptian,  on  the  contrary,  less  cognizant  of  accurate 
form  in  anything,  were  content  to  allow  their  figure  sculpture 
to  be  executed  by  inferior  workmen,  but  lowered  the  method 
of  its  treatment  to  a  standard  which  every  workman  could 
reach,  and  then  trained  him  by  discipline  so  rigid,  that  there 


160 


THE  STOKES  OF  VENICE, 


was  no  chance  of  his  falling  beneath  the  standard  appointed 
The  Greek  gave  to  the  lower  workman  no  subject  which  he 
could  not  perfectly  execute.  The  Assyrian  gave  him  subjects 
which  he  could  only  execute  imperfectly,  but  fixed  a  legal 
standard  for  his  imperfection.  The  workman  was,  in  both 
systems,  a  slave.* 

§  x.  But  in  the  mediaeval,  or  especially  Christian,  system  of 
ornament,  this  slavery  is  done  away  with  altogether  ;  Chris- 
tianity having  recognized,  in  small  things  as  well  as  great,  the 
individual  value  of  every  soul.  But  it  not  only  recognizes  its 
value  ;  it  confesses  its  imperfection,  in  only  bestowing  dignity 
upon  the  acknowledgment  of  un worthiness.  That  admission 
of  lost  power  and  fallen  nature,  which  the  Greek  or  Ninevite 
felt  to  be  intensely  painful,  and,  as  far  as  might  be,  altogether 
refused,  the  Christian  makes  daily  and  hourly,  contemplating 
the  fact  of  it  without  fear,  as  tending,  in  the  end,  to  God's 
greater  glory.  Therefore,  to  every  spirit  which  Christianity 
summons  to  her  service,  her  exhortation  is  :  Do  what  you 
can,  and  confess  frankly  what  you  are  unable  to  do  ;  neither 
let  your  effort  be  shortened  for  fear  of  failure,  nor  your  con- 
fession silenced  for  fear  of  shame.  And  it  is,  perhaps,  the 
principal  admirabkmess  of  the  Gothic  schools  of  architecture, 
that;  they  thus  receive  the  results  of  the  labor  of  inferior 
minds  ;  and  out  of  fragments  full  of  imperfection,  and  be- 
traying that  imperfection  in  every  touch,  indulgently  raise  up 
a  stately  and  unaccusable  whole. 

§  xi.  But  the  modern  English  mind  has  this  much  in  com- 
mon with  that  of  the  Greek,  that  it  intensely  desires,  in  all 
things,  the  utmost  completion  or  perfection  compatible  with 
their  nature.    This  is  a  noble  character  in  the  abstract,  but 

*  The  third  kind  of  ornament,  the  Renaissance,  is  that  in  which  the 
inferior  detail  becomes  principal,  the  executor  of  every  minor  portion 
being  required  to  exhibit  skill  and  possess  knowledge  as  great  as  that 
which  is  possessed  by  the  master  of  the  design ;  -and  in  the  endeavor  to 
endow  him  with  this  skill  and  knowledge,  his  own  original  power  is 
overwhelmed,  and  the  whole  building  becomes  a  wearisome  exhibition 
of  well-educated  imbecility.  We  must  fully  inquire  into  the  nature  of 
this  form  of  error,  when  we  arrive  at  the  examination  of  the  Renaisr 
Bance  schools 


THE  NATURE  OF  GOTHIC. 


161 


becomes  ignoble  when  it  causes  us  to  forget  the  relative  dig- 
nities of  the  nature  itself,  and  to  prefer  the  perfectness  of  the 
lower  nature  to  the  imperfection  of  the  higher  ;  not  consider- 
ing that  as,  judged  by  such  a  rule,  all  the  brute  animals  would 
be  preferable  to  man,  because  more  perfect  in  their  functions 
and  kind,  and  yet  are  always  held  inferior  to  him,  so  also  in 
the  works  of  man,  those  which  are  more  perfect  in  their  kind 
are  always  inferior  to  those  which  are,  in  their  nature,  liable 
to  more  faults  and  shortcomings.  For  the  finer  the  nature, 
the  more  flaws  it  will  show  through  the  clearness  of  it ;  and 
it  is  a  law  of  this  universe,  that  the  best  things  shall  be  sel- 
domest  seen  in  their  best  form.  The  wild  grass  grows  well  and 
strongly,  one  year  with  another  ;  but  the  wheat  is.  according  to 
the  greater  nobleness  of  its  nature,  liable  to  the  bitterer  blight. 
And  therefore,  while  in  all  things  that  we  see,  or  do,  we  are  to 
desire  perfection,  and  strive  for  it,  we  are  nevertheless  no  to  set 
the  meaner  thing,  in  its  narrow  accomplishment,  above  the 
nobler  thing,  in  its  mighty  progress  ;  not  to  esteem  smooth 
minuteness  above  shattered  majesty  ;  not  to  prefer  mean  victory 
to  honorable  defeat ;  not  to  lower  the  level  of  our  aim,  that  we 
may  the  more  surely  enjoy  the  complacency  of  success.  Bat, 
above  all,  in  our  dealings  with  the  souls  of  other  men,  we  are  to 
take  care  how  we  check,  by  severe  requirement  or  narrow  cau- 
tion, efforts  which  might  otherwise  lead  to  a  noble  issue  ;  and, 
still  more,  how  we  withhold  our  admiration  from  great  excel- 
lences, because  they  are  mingled  with  rough  faults.  Now,  in  the 
make  and  nature  of  every  man,  however  rude  or  simple,  whom 
we  employ  in  manual  labor,  there  are  some  powers  for  better 
things  :  some  tardy  imagination,  torpid  capacity  of  emotion, 
tottering  steps  of  thought,  there  are,  even  at  the  worst ;  and 
in  most  cases  it  is  all  our  own  fault  that  they  are  tardy  or 
torpid.  But  they  cannot  be  strengthened,  unless  we  are 
content  to  take  them  in  their  feebleness,  and  unless  we  prize 
and  honor  them  in  their  imperfection  above  the  best  and 
most  perfect  manual  skill.  And  this  is  what  we  have  to  do 
with  all  our  laborers  ;  to  look  for  the  thoughtful  part  of  them, 
and  get  that  out  of  them,  whatever  we  lose  for  it,  whatever 
faults  and  errors  we  are  obliged  to  take  with  it.  For  the 
Vol.  II.— 11 


162 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


best  that  is  in  them  cannot  manifest  itself,  but  in  company 
with  much  error.  Understand  this  clearly  :  You  can  teach  a 
man  to  draw  a  straight  line,  and  to  cut  one  ;  to  strike  a 
curved  line,  and  to  carve  it ;  and  to  copy  and  carve  any  num- 
ber of  given  lines  or  forms,  with  admirable  speed  and  perfect 
precision  ;  and  you  find  his  work  perfect  of  its  kind :  but  if 
you  ask  him  to  think  about  any  of  those  forms,  to  consider  if 
he  cannot  find  any  better  in  his  own  head,  he  stops  ;  his  exe- 
cution becomes  hesitating  ;  he  thinks,  and  ten  to  one  he 
thinks  wrong;  ten  to  one  he  makes  a  mistake  in  the  first 
touch  he  gives  to  his  work  as  a  thinking  being.  But  you 
have  made  a  man  of  him  for  all  that.  He  was  only  a  machine 
before,  an  animated  tool. 

§  xii.  And  observe,  you  are  put  to  stern  choice  in  this 
matter,  You  must  either  make  a  tool  of  the  creature,  or  a 
man  of  him.  You  cannot  make  both.  Men  were  not  intended 
to  work  with  the  accuracy  of  tools,  to  be  precise  and  perfect 
in  all  their  actions.  If  you  will  have  that  precision  out  of 
them,  and  make  their  fingers  measure  degrees  like  cog-wheels, 
and  their  arms  strike  curves  like  compasses,  you  must  mi- 
humanize  them.  All  the  energy  of  their  spirits  must  be  given 
to  make  cogs  and  compasses  of  themselves.  All  their  atten- 
tion and  strength  must  go  to  the  accomplishment  of  the  mean 
act.  The  eye  of  the  soul  must  be  bent  upon  the  finger-point, 
and  the  soul's  force  must  fill  all  the  invisible  nerves  that  guide 
it,  ten  hours  a  day,  that  it  may  not  err  from  its  steely  pre- 
cision, and  so  soul  and  sight  be  worn  away,  and  the  whole 
human  being  be  lost  at  last — a  heap  of  sawdust,  so  far  as  its 
intellectual  work  in  this  world  is  concerned  ;  saved  only  by 
its  Heart,  which  cannot  go  into  the  form  of  cogs  and  com- 
passes, but  expands,  after  the  ten  hours  are  over,  into  fireside 
humanity.  On  the  other  hand,  if  you  will  make  a  man  of 
the  working  creature,  you  cannot  make  a  tool.  Let  him  but 
begin  to  imagine,  to  think,  to  try  to  do  anything  worth  do- 
ing ;  and  the  engine-turned  precision  is  lost  at  once.  Out 
come  all  his  roughness,  all  his  dulness,  all  his  incapability, 
shame  upon  shame,  failure  upon  failure,  pause  after  pause  : 
but  out  comes  the  whole  majesty  of  him  also ;  and  we  know 


THE  NATURE  OF  GOTHIC. 


163 


the  height  of  it  only,  when  we  see  the  clouds  settling  upon 
him.  And,  whether  the  clouds  be  bright  or  dark,  there  will 
be  transfiguration  behind  and  within  them. 

§  xin.  And  now,  reader,  look  round  this  English  room  of 
yours,  about  which  you  have  been  proud  so  often,  because  the 
work  of  it  was  so  good  and  strong,  and  the  ornaments  of  it 
so  finished.  Examine  again  all  those  accurate  mouldings,  and 
perfect  polishings,  and  unerring  adjustments  of  the  seasoned 
wood  and  tempered  steel.  Many  a  time  you  have  exulted 
over  them,  and  thought  how  great  England  was,  because  her 
slightest  work  was  done  so  thoroughly.  Alas !  if  read  rightly, 
these  perfectnesses  are  signs  of  a  slavery  in  our  England  a 
thousand  times  more  bitter  and  more  degrading  than  that  of 
the  scourged  African,  or  helot  Greek.  Men  may  be  beaten, 
chained,  tormented,  yoked  like  cattle,  slaughtered  like  summer 
flies,  and  yet  remain  in  one  sense,  and  the  best  sense,  free. 
But  to  smother  their  souls  within  them,  to  blight  and  hew  intc 
rotting  pollards  the  suckling  branches  of  their  human  intelli- 
gence, to  make  the  flesh  and  skin  which,  after  the  worm's 
work  on  it,  is  to  see  God,  into  leathern  thongs  to  yoke  ma- 
chinery with, — this  it  is  to  be  slave-masters  indeed  ;  and  there 
might  be  more  freedom  in  England,  though  her  feudal  lords' 
lightest  words  were  worth  men's  lives,  and  though  the  blood 
of  the  vexed  husbandman  dropped  in  the  furrows  of  her  fields, 
than  there  is  while  the  animation  of  her  multitudes  is  sent 
like  fuel  to  feed  the  factory  smoke,  and  the  strength  of  them 
is  given  daily  to  be  wasted  into  the  fineness  of  a  web,  or  racked 
into  the  exactness  of  a  line. 

§  xiv.  And,  on  the  other  hand,  go  forth  again  to  gaze  upon 
the  old  cathedral  front,  where  you  have  smiled  so  often  at  the 
fantastic  ignorance  of  the  old  sculptors  :  examine  once  more 
those  ugly  goblins,  and  formless  monsters,  and  stern  statues, 
anatomiless  and  rigid  ;  but  do  not  mock  at  them,  for  they  are 
signs  of  the  life  and  liberty  of  every  workman  who  struck  the 
stone  ;  a  freedom  of  thought,  and  rank  in  scale  of  being,  such 
as  no  laws,  no  charters,  no  charities  can  secure  ;  but  which  it 
must  be  the  first  aim  of  all  Europe  at  this  day  to  regain  for 
her  children. 


164 


THE  STORES  OF  VENICE. 


§  xv.  Let  me  not  be  thought  to  speak  wildly  or  extrava. 
gantry.  It  is  verily  this  degradation  of  the  operative  into  a 
machine,  which,  more  than  any  other  evil  of  the  times,  is  lead- 
ing the  mass  of  the  nations  everywhere  into  vain,  incoherent, 
destructive  struggling  for  a  freedom  of  which  they  cannot  ex- 
plain the  nature  to  themselves.  Their  universal  outcry  against 
wealth,  and  against  nobility,  is  not  forced  from  them  either 
by  the  pressure  of  famine,  or  the  sting  of  mortified  pride. 
These  do  much,  and  have  done  much  in  all  ages ;  but  the 
foundations  of  society  wTere  never  yet  shaken  as  they  are  at 
this  day.  It  is  not  that  men  are  ill  fed,  but  that  they  have  iio 
pleasure  in  the  work  by  which  they  make  their  bread  :.±id 
therefore  look  to  wealth  as  the  only  means  of  pleasure.  It  is 
not  that  men  are  pained  by  the  scorn  of  the  upper  classes,  but 
they  cannot  endure  their  own  ;  for  they  feel  that  the  kind  of 
labor  to  which  they  are  condemned  is  verily  a  degrading  one, 
and  makes  them  less  than  men.  Never  had  the  upper  classes 
so  much  sympathy  with  the  lower,  or  charity  for  them,  as  they 
have  at  this  day,  and  yet  never  were  they  so  much  hated  by 
them :  for,  of  old,  the  separation  between  the  noble  and  the 
poor  was  merely  a  wall  built  by  law  ;  now  it  is  a  veritable 
difference  in  level  of  standing,  a  precipice  between  upper  and 
lower  grounds  in  the  field  of  humanity,  and  there  is  pesti- 
lential air  at  the  bottom  of  it.  I  know  not  if  a  day  is  ever  to 
come  when  the  nature  of  right  freedom  will  be  understood, 
and  when  men  will  see  that  to  obey  another  man,  to  labor  for 
him,  yield  reverence  to  him  or  to  his  place,  is  not  slavery.  It 
is  often  the  best  kind  of  liberty, — liberty  from  care.  The  man 
who  says  to  one,  Go,  and  he  goeth,  and  to  another,  Come,  and 
he  cometh,  has,  in  most  cases,  more  sense  of  restraint  and 
difficulty  than  the  man  who  obeys  him.  The  movements  of 
the  one  are  hindered  by  the  burden  on  his  shoulder  ;  of  the 
other,  by  the  bridle  on  his  lips  :  there  is  no  way  by  which  the 
burden  may  be  lightened  ;  but  we  need  not  suffer  from  the 
bridle  if  we  do  not  champ  at  it.  To  yield  reverence  to  an- 
other, to  hold  ourselves  and  our  lives  at  his  disposal,  is  not 
slavery  ;  often,  it  is  the  noblest  state  in  which  a  man  can  live 
in  this  world.    There  ig,  indeed,  a  reverence  which  is  servile, 


THE  NATURE  OF  GOTHIC. 


165 


that  is  to  say,  irrational  or  selfish :  but  there  is  also  noble 
reverence,  that  is  to  say,  reasonable  and  loving  ;  and  a  man  is 
never  so  noble  as  when  he  is  reverent  in  this  kind  ;  nay,  even 
if  the  feeling  pass  the  bounds  of  mere  reason,  so  that  it  be 
loving,  a  man  is  raised  by  it.  Which  had,  in  reality,  most  of 
the  serf  nature  in  him, — the  Irish  peasant  who  was  lying  in 
wait  yesterday  for  his  landlord,  with  his  musket  muzzle 
thrust  through  the  ragged  hedge  ;  or  that  old  mountain  ser- 
vant, who,  200  years  ago,  at  Inverkeithing,  gave  up  his  own 
life  and  the  lives  of  his  seven  sons  for  his  chief  ?  * — and  as 
each  fell,  calling  forth  his  brother  to  the  death,  "  Another  for 
Hector !  "  And  therefore,  in  all  ages  and  all  countries,  rever- 
ence has  been  paid  and  sacrifice  made  by  men  to  each  other, 
not  only  without  complaint,  but  rejoicingly  ;  and  famine,  and 
peril,  and  sword,  and  all  evil,  and  all  shame,  have  been  borne 
willingly  in  the  causes  of  masters  and  kings  ;  for  all  these 
gifts  of  the  heart  ennobled  the  men  who  gave,  not  less  than 
the  men  who  received  them,  and  nature  prompted,  and  God 
rewarded  the  sacrifice.  But  to  feel  their  souls  withering 
within  them,  unthanked,  to  find  their  whole  being  sunk  into 
an  unrecognized  abyss,  to  be  counted  off  into  a  heap  of  mech- 
anism, numbered  with  its  wheels,  and  weighed  with  its  ham- 
mer strokes  ; — this  nature  bade  not, — this  God  blesses  not, — 
this  humanity  for  no  long  time  is  able  to  endure. 

§  xvi.  We  have  much  studied  and  much  perfected,  of  late, 
the  great  civilized  invention  of  the  division  of  labor  ;  only  we 
give  it  a  false  name.  It  is  not,  truly  speaking,  the  labor  that 
h  divided  ;  but  the  men  : — Divided  into  mere  segments  of 
men — broken  into  small  fragments  and  crumbs  of  life ;  so 
that  all  the  little  piece  of  intelligence  that  is  left  in  a  man  is 
not  enough  to  make  a  pin,  or  a  nail,  but  exhausts  itself  in 
making  the  point  of  a  pin,  or  the  head  of  a  nail.  Now  it  is  a 
good  and  desirable  thing,  truly,  to  make  many  pins  in  a  day  ; 
but  if  we  could  only  see  with  what  crystal  sand  their  points 
were  polished, — sand  of  human  soul,  much  to  be  magnified 
before  it  can  be  discerned  for  what  it  is, — we  should  think 
there  might  be  some  loss  in  it  also.  And  the  great  cry  that 
*  Vide  Preface  to  ' 1  Fair  Maid  of  Perth." 


166 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


rises  from  all  our  manufacturing  cities,  louder  than  their  fur- 
nace blast,  is  all  in  very  deed  for  this, — that  we  manufact- 
ure everything  there  except  men ;  we  blanch  cotton,  and 
strengthen  steel,  and  refine  sugar,  and  shape  pottery  ;  but  to 
brighten,  to  strengthen,  to  refine,  or  to  form  a  single  living 
spirit,  never  enters  into  our  estimate  of  advantages.  And  all 
the  evil  to  which  that  cry  is  urging  our  myriads  can  be  met 
only  in  one  way  :  not  by  teaching  nor  preaching,  for  to  teach 
them  is  but  to  show  them  their  misery,  and  to  preach  to  them, 
if  we  do  nothing  more  than  preach,  is  to  mock  at  it.  It  can 
be  met  only  by  a  right  understanding,  on  the  part  of  all  classes, 
of  what  kinds  of  labor  are  good  fcr  men,  raising  them,  and 
making  them  happy  ;  by  a  determined  sacrifice  of  such  con- 
venience, or  beauty,  or  cheapness  as  is  to  be  got  only  by  the 
degradation  of  the  workman  ;  and  by  equally  determined  de- 
mand for  the  products  and  results  of  healthy  and  ennobling 
labor. 

§  xvii.  And  how,  it  will  be  asked,  are  these  products  to  be 
recognized,  and  this  demand  to  be  regulated  ?  Easily :  by 
the  observance  of  three  broad  and  simple  rules  : 

1.  Never  encourage  the  manufacture  of  any  article  not 
absolutely  necessary,  in  the  production  of  which  Invention  has 
no  share. 

2.  Never  demand  an  exact  finish  for  its  own  sake,  but  only 
for  some  practical  or  noble  end. 

3.  Never  encourage  imitation  or  copying  of  any  kind,  ex- 
cept for  the  sake  of  preserving  record  of  great  works. 

The  second  of  these  principles  is  the  only  one  which  di- 
rectly rises  out  of  the  consideration  of  our  immediate  subject ; 
but  I  shall  briefly  explain  the  meaning  and  extent  of  the  first 
also,  reserving  the  enforcement  of  the  third  for  another  place. 

1.  Never  encourage  the  manufacture  of  anything  not  nec- 
essary, in  the  production  of  which  invention  has  no  share. 

For  instance.  Glass  beads  are  utterly  unnecessary,  and 
there  is  no  design  or  thought  employed  in  their  manufacture. 
They  are  formed  by  first  drawing  out  the  glass  into  rods ; 
these  rods  are  chopped  up  into  fragments  of  the  size  of  beads 
by  the  human  hand,  and  the  fragments  are  then  rounded  in 


THE  NATURE  OF  GOTHIC. 


167 


the  furnace.  The  men  who  chop  up  the  rods  sit  at  their  work 
all  day,  their  hands  vibrating  with  a  perpetual  and  exquisitely 
timed  palsy,  and  the  beads  dropping  beneath  their  vibration 
like  hail.  Neither  they,  nor  the  men  who  draw  out  the  rods, 
or  fuse  the  fragments,  have  the  smallest  occasion  for  the  use 
of  any  single  human  faculty  ;  and  every  young  lady,  there- 
fore, who  buys  glass  beads  is  engaged  in  the  slave-trade,  and 
in  a  much  more  cruel  one  than  that  which  we  have  so  long 
been  endeavoring  to  put  down. 

But  glass  cups  and  vessels  may  become  the  subjects  of  ex- 
quisite invention  ;  and  if  in  buying  these  we  pay  for  the  in- 
vention, that  is  to  say  for  the  beautiful  form,  or  color,  or  en- 
graving, and  not  for  mere  finish  of  execution,  we  are  doing 
good  to  humanity. 

§  xviii.  So,  again,  the  cutting  of  precious  stones,  in  all  ordi- 
nary cases,  requires  little  exertion  of  any  mental  faculty ; 
some  tact  and  judgment  in  avoiding  flaws,  and  so  on,  but 
nothing  to  bring  out  the  whole  mind.  Every  person  who 
wears  cut  jewels  merely  for  the  sake  of  their  value  is,  there- 
fore, a  slave-driver. 

But  the  working  of  the  goldsmith,  and  the  various  de- 
signing of  grouped  jewellery  and  enamel-work,  may  become 
the  subject  of  the  most  noble  human  intelligence.  Therefore, 
money  spent  in  the  purchase  of  well-designed  plate,  of  pre- 
cious engraved  vases,  cameos,  or  enamels,  does  good  to  hu- 
manity ;  and,  in  work  of  this  kind,  jewels  may  be  employed 
to  heighten  its  splendor  ;  and  their  cutting  is  then  a  price 
paid  for  the  attainment  of  a  noble  end,  and  thus  perfectly  al- 
lowable. 

§  xix.  I  shall  perhaps  press  this  law  farther  elsewhere,  but 
our  immediate  concern  is  chiefly  with  the  second,  namely3 
never  to  demand  an  exact  finish,  when  it  does  not  lead  to  a 
noble  end.  For  observe,  I  have  only  dwelt  upon  the  rudeness 
of  Gothic,  or  any  other  kind  of  imperfectness,  as  admirable, 
Where  it  was  impossible  to  get  design  or  thought  without  it. 
If  you  are  to  have  the  thought  of  a  rough  and  untaught  man, 
you  must  have  it  in  a  rough  and  untaught  way  ;  but  from  an 
educated  man,  who  can  without  effort  express  his  thoughts  iti 


168 


TEE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


an  educated  way,  take  the  graceful  expression,  and  be  thank 
ful.  Only  get  the  thought,  and  do  not  silence  the  peasant  be- 
cause he  cannot  speak  good  grammar,  or  until  you  have  taught 
him  his  grammar.  Grammar  and  refinement  are  good  things, 
both,  only  be  sure  of  the  better  thing  first.  And  thus  in  art, 
delicate  finish  is  desirable  from  the  greatest  masters,  and  is 
always  given  by  them.  In  some  places  Michael  Angelo,  Leo- 
nardo, Phidias,  Perugino,  Turner,  all  finished  with  the  most 
exquisite  care  ;  and  the  finish  they  give  always  leads  to  the 
fuller  accomplishment  of  their  noble  purposes.  But  lower 
men  than  these  cannot  finish,  for  it  requires  consummate 
knowledge  to  finish  consummately,  and  then  wTe  must  take 
their  thoughts  as  they  are  able  to  give  them.  So  the  rule  is 
simple  :  Always  look  for  invention  first,  and  after  that,  for 
such  execution  as  will  help  the  invention,  and  as  the  inventor 
is  capable  of  without  painful  effort,  and  no  more.  Above  all, 
demand  no  refinement  of  execution  where  there  is  no  thought, 
for  that  is  slaves'  work,  unredeemed.  Rather  choose  rough 
work  than  smooth  work,  so  only  that  the  practical  purpose  be 
answered,  and  never  imagine  there  is  reason  to  be  proud  of 
anything  that  may  be  accomplished  by  patience  and  sand- 
paper. 

§  xx.  I  shall  only  give  one  example,  which  however  will 
show  the  reader  what  I  mean,  from  the  manufacture  already 
alluded  to,  that  of  glass.  Our  modern  glass  is  exquisitely 
clear  in  its  substance,  true  in  its  form,  accurate  in  its  cutting. 
We  are  proud  of  this.  We  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  it.  The 
old  Venice  glass  was  muddy,  inaccurate  in  all  its  forms,  and 
clumsily  cut,  if  at  all.  And  the  old  Venetian  was  justly  proud 
of  it.  For  there  is  this  difference  between  the  English  and 
Venetian  workman,  that  the  former  thinks  only  of  accurately 
matching  his  patterns,  and  getting  his  curves  perfectly  true 
and  his  edges  perfectly  sharp,  and  becomes  a  mere  machine 
for  rounding  curves  and  sharpening  edges,  while  the  old  Vene- 
tian cared  not  a  whit  whether  his  edges  were  sharp  or  not,  but 
he  invented  a  new  design  for  every  glass  that  he  made,  and 
never  moulded  a  handle  or  a  lip  without  a  new  fancy  in  it. 
And  therefore,  though  some  Venetian  glass  is  ugly  and  clumsy 


THE  NATURE  OF  GOTHIC. 


169 


enough,  when  made  by  clumsy  and  uninventive  workmen, 
other  Venetian  glass  is  so  lovely  in  its  forms  that  no  price  is 
too  great  for  it ;  and  we  never  see  the  same  form  in  it  twice. 
Now  you  cannot  have  the  finish  and  the  varied  form  too.  If 
the  workman  is  thinking  about  his  edges,  he  cannot  be  think- 
ing of  his  design  ;  if  of  his  design,  he  cannot  think  of  his 
edges.  Choose  whether  you  will  pay  for  the  lovely  form  or 
the  perfect  finish,  and  choose  at  the  same  moment  whether 
you  will  make  the  worker  a  man  or  a  grindstone. 

§  xxi.  Nay,  but  the  reader  interrupts  me, — "  If  the  work- 
man can  design  beautifully,  I  would  not  have  him  kept  at  the 
furnace.  Let  hirn  be  taken  away  and  made  a  gentleman,  and 
have  a  studio,  and  design  his  glass  there,  and  I  will  have  it 
blown  and  cut  for  him  by  common  workmen,  and  so  I  will 
have  my  design  and  my  finish  too." 

All  ideas  of  this  kind  are  founded  upon  two  mistaken  sup- 
positions :  the  first,  that  one  man's  thoughts  can  be,  or  ought 
to  be,  executed  by  another  man's  hands  ;  the  •  second,  that 
manual  labor  is  a  degradation,  when  it  is  governed  by  intellect. 

On  a  large  scale,  and  in  work  determinable  by  line  and 
rule,  it  is  indeed  both  possible  and  necessary  that  the  thoughts 
of  one  man  should  be  carried  out  by  the  labor  of  others  ;  in  this 
sense  I  have  already  defined  the  best  architecture  to  be  the 
expression  of  the  mind  of  manhood  by  the  hands  of  childhood. 
But  on  a  smaller  scale,  and  in  a  design  which  cannot  be  math- 
ematically defined,  one  man's  thoughts  can  never  be  expressed 
by  another  :  and  the  difference  between  the  spirit  of  touch  of 
the  man  who  is  inventing,  and  of  the  man  who  is  obeying  direc- 
tions, is  often  all  the  difference  between  a  great  and  a  com- 
mon work  of  art.  How  wide  the  separation  is  between  orig- 
inal and  second-hand  execution,  I  shall  endeavor  to  show 
elsewhere  ;  it  is  not  so  much  to  our  purpose  here  as  to  mark 
the  other  and  more  fatal  error  of  despising  manual  labor  when 
governed  by  intellect  ;  for  it  is  no  less  fatal  an  error  to  despise 
it  when  thus  regulated  by  intellect,  than  to  value  it  for  its  own 
sake.  We  are  always  in  these  days  endeavoring  to  separate 
the  two  ;  we  want  one  man  to  be  always  thinking,  and  another 
to  be  always  working,  and  we  call  one  a  gentleman,  and  the 


/TO 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


other  an  operative  ;  whereas  the  workman  ought  often  to  be 
thinking,  and  the  thinker  often  to  be  working,  and  both 
should  be  gentlemen,  in  the  best  sense.  As  it  is,  we  make 
both  ungentle,  the  one  envying,  the  other  despising,  his 
brother ;  and  the  mass  of  society  is  made  up  of  morbid  think- 
ers, and  miserable  workers.  Now  it  is  only  by  labor  that 
thought  can  be  made  healthy,  and  only  by  thought  that  labor 
can  be  made  happy,  and  the  two  cannot  be  separated  with  im- 
punity. It  would  be  well  if  all  of  us  were  good  handicrafts- 
men in  some  kind,  and  the  dishonor  of  manual  labor  done 
away  with  altogether  ;  so  that  though  there  should  still  be  a 
trenchant  distinction  of  race  between  nobles  and  commoners, 
there  should  not,  among  the  latter,  be  a  trenchant  distinction 
of  employment,  as  between  idle  and  working  men,  or  between 
men  of  liberal  and  illiberal  professions.  All  professions  should 
be  liberal,  and  there  should  be  less  pride  felt  in  peculiarity  of 
employment,  and  more  in  excellence  of  achievement.  And 
yet  more,  in  each  several  profession,  no  master  should  be  too 
proud  to  do  its  hardest  work.  The  painter  should  grind  his 
own  colors ;  the  architect  work  in  the  mason's  yard  with  his 
men  ;  the  master-manufacturer  be  himself  a  more  skilful 
operative  than  any  man  in  his  mills  ;  and  the  distinction  be- 
tween one  man  and  another  be  only  in  experience  and  skill, 
and  the  authority  and  wealth  which  these  must  naturally  and 
justly  obtain. 

§  xxii.  I  should  be  led  far  from  the  matter  in  hand,  if  I 
were  to  pursue  this  interesting  subject.  Enough,  I  trust,  has 
been  said  to  show  the  reader  that  the  rudeness  or  imperfec- 
tion which  at  first  rendered  the  term  "Gothic"  one  of  re- 
proach is  indeed,  when  rightly  understood,  one  of  the  most 
noble  characters  of  Christian  architecture,  and  not  only  a 
noble  but  an  essential  one.  It  seems  a  fantastic  paradox,  but 
it  is  nevertheless  a  most  important  truth,  that  no  architecture 
can  be  truly  noble  which  is  not  imperfect.  And  this  is  easily 
demonstrable.  For  since  the  architect,  whom  we  will  suppose 
capable  of  doing  all  in  perfection,  cannot  execute  the  whole 
with  his  own  hands,  he  must  either  make  slaves  of  his  work- 
men in  the  old  Greek,  and  present  English  fashion,  and  level 


THE  NATURE  OF  GOTHIC. 


171 


his  work  to  a  slave's  capacities,  which  is  to  degrade  it ;  or 
else  he  must  take  his  workmen  as  he  finds  them,  and  let  them 
show  their  weaknesses  together  with  their  strength,  which 
will  involve  the  Gothic  imperfection,  but  render  the  whole 
work  as  noble  as  the  intellect  of  the  age  can  make  it. 

§  xxiii.  But  the  principle  may  be  stated  more  broadly  still. 
I  have  confined  the  illustration  of  it  to  architecture,  but  I 
must  not  leave  it  as  if  true  of  architecture  only.  Hitherto  I 
have  used  the  words  imperfect  and  perfect  merely  to  dis- 
tinguish between  wTork  grossly  unskilful,  and  work  executed 
with  average  precision  and  science  ;  and  I  have  been  pleading 
that  any  degree  of  unskilfulness  should  be  admitted,  so  only 
that  the  laborer's  mind  had  room  for  expression.  But,  accu- 
rately speaking,  no  good  work  whatever  can  be  perfect,  and 
the  demand  for  perfection  is  always  a  sign  of  a  misunderstanding 
of  the  ends  of  art. 

§  xxiv.  This  for  two  reasons,  both  based  on  everlasting 
laws.  The  first,  that  no  great  man  ever  stops  working  till  he 
has  reached  his  point  of  failure  ;  that  is  to  say,  his  mind  is 
always  far  in  advance  of  his  powers  of  execution,  and  the 
latter  will  now  and  then  give  way  in  trying  to  follow  it  ;  be- 
sides that  he  will  always  give  to  the  inferior  portions  of  his 
work  only  such  inferior  attention  as  they  require  ;  and  accord- 
ing to  his  greatness  he  becomes  so  accustomed  to  the  feeling 
of  dissatisfaction  with  the  best  he  can  do,  that  in  moments  of 
lassitude  or  anger  with  himself  he  will  not  care  though  the 
beholder  be  dissatisfied  also.  I  believe  there  has  only  been 
one  man  who  would  not  acknowledge  this  necessity,  and  strove 
always  to  reach  perfection,  Leonardo  ;  the  end  of  his  vain 
effort  being  merely  that  he  would  take  ten  years  to  a  picture, 
and  leave  it  unfinished.  And  therefore,  if  we  are  to  have 
great  men  working  at  all,  or  less  men  doing  their  best,  the 
work  will  be  imperfect,  however  beautiful.  Of  human  work 
none  but  wThat  is  bad  can  be  perfect,  in  its  own  bad  way.* 

*  The  Elgin  marbles  are  supposed  by  many  persons  to  be  "  perfect,1' 
In  the  most  important  portions  they  indeed  approach  perfection,  but 
only  there.  The  draperies  are  unfinished,  the  hair  and  wool  of  the 
animals  are  unfinished,  and  the  entire  bas-reliefs  of  the  frieze  are 
roughly  cut. 


172 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


§  xxv.  The  second  reason  is,  that  imperfection  is  in  soma 
sort  essential  to  all  that  we  know  of  life.  It  is  the  sign  of  life 
in  a  mortal  body,  that  is  to  say,  of  a  state  of  progress  and 
change.  Nothing  that  lives  is,  or  can  be,  rigidly  perfect ; 
part  of  it  is  decaying,  part  nascent.  The  foxglove  blossom, — 
a  third  part  bud,  a  third  part  past,  a  third  part  in  full  bloom 
— is  a  type  of  the  life  of  this  world.  And  in  all  things  that 
live  there  are  certain  irregularities  and  deficiencies  which  are 
not  only  signs  of  life,  but  sources  of  beauty.  No  human  face 
is  exactly  the  same  in  its  lines  on  each  side,  no  leaf  perfect  in 
its  lobes,  no  branch  in  its  symmetry.  All  admit  irregularity 
as  they  imply  change  ;  and  to  banish  imperfection  is  to  de- 
stroy expression,  to  check  exertion,  to  paralyse  vitality.  All 
things  are  literally  better,  lovelier,  and  more  beloved  for  the 
imperfections  which  have  been  divinely  appointed,  that  the 
law  of  human  life  may  be  Effort,  and  the  law  of  human  judg- 
ment, Mercy. 

Accept  this  then  for  a  universal  law,  that  neither  architect- 
ure nor  any  other  noble  work  of  man  can  be  good  unless  it 
be  imperfect ;  and  let  us  be  prepared  for  the  otherwise  strange 
fact,  which  we  shall  discern  clearly  as  we  approach  the  period 
of  the  Renaissance,  that  the  first  cause  of  the  fall  of  the  arts 
of  Europe  was  a  relentless  requirement  of  perfection,  inca- 
pable alike  either  of  being  silenced  by  veneration  for  great- 
ness, or  softened  into  forgiveness  of  simplicity. 

Thus  far  then  of  the  Rudeness  or  Savageness,  which  is  the 
first  mental  element  of  Gothic  architecture.  It  is  an  element 
in  many  other  healthy  architectures  also,  as  in  Byzantine  and 
Romanesque  ;  but  true  Gothic  cannot  exist  without  it. 

§  xxvl  The  second  mental  element  above  named  was 
Changkefulness,  or  Variety. 

I  have  already  enforced  the  allowing  independent  operation 
to  the  inferior  workman,  simply  as  a  duty  to  him,  and  as  en- 
nobling the  architecture  by  rendering  it  more  Christian.  We 
have  now  to  consider  what  reward  we  obtain  for  the  perform- 
ance of  this  duty,  namely,  the  perpetual  variety  of  every 
feature  of  the  building. 

Wherever  the  workman  is  utterly  enslaved,  the  parts  of  the 


THE  NATURE  OF  GOTHIC. 


173 


building  must  of  course  be  absolutely  like  each  other  ;  for  the 
perfection  of  his  execution  can  only  be  reached  by  exercising 
him  in  doing  one  thing,  and  giving  him  nothing  else  to  do. 
The  degree  in  which  the  workman  is  degraded  may  be  thus 
known  at  a  glance,  by  observing  whether  the  several  parts  of 
the  building  are  similar  or  not ;  and  if,  as  in  Greek  work,  all 
the  capitals  are  alike,  and  all  the  mouldings  unvaried,  then  the 
degradation  is  complete  ;  if,  as  in  Egyptian  or  Ninevite  work, 
though  the  manner  of  executing  certain  figures  is  always  the 
same,  the  order  of  design  is  perpetually  varied,  the  degradation 
is  less  total ;  if,  as  in  Gothic  work,  there  is  perpetual  change 
both  in  design  and  execution,  the  workman  must  have  been 
altogether  set  free. 

§  xxvii.  How  much  the  beholder  gains  from  the  liberty  of 
the  laborer  may  perhaps  be  questioned  in  England,  where  one 
of  the  strongest  instincts  in  nearly  every  mind  is  that  Love  of 
Order  which  makes  us  desire  that  our  house  windows  should 
pair  like  our  carriage  horses,  and  allows  us  to  yield  our  faith 
unhesitatingly  to  architectural  theories  which  fix  a  form  for 
everything  and  forbid  variation  from  it.  I  would  not  impeach 
love  of  order  :  it  fs  one  of  the  most  useful  elements  of  the 
English  mind  ;  it  helps  us  in  our  commerce  and  in  all  purely 
practical  matters  ;  and  it  is  in  many  cases  one  of  the  founda- 
tion stones  of  morality.  Only  do  not  let  us  suppose  that  love 
of  order  is  love  of  art.  It  is  true  that  order,  in  its  highest 
sense,  is  one  of  the  necessities  of  art,  just  as  time  is  a  necessity 
of  music  ;  but  love  of  order  has  no  more  to  do  with  our  right 
enjoyment  of  architecture  or  painting,  than  love  of  punctuality 
with  the  appreciation  of  an  opera.  Experience,  I  fear,  teaches 
us  that  accurate  and  methodical  habits  in  daily  life  are  seldom 
characteristic  of  those  who  either  quickly  perceive,  or  richly 
possess,  the  creative  powers  of  art ;  there  is,  however,  nothing 
inconsistent  between  the  two  instincts,  and  nothing  to  hinder 
us  from  retaining  our  business  habits,  and  yet  fully  allowing 
and  enjoying  the  noblest  gifts  of  Invention.  We  already  do 
so,  in  every  other  branch  of  art  except  architecture,  and  we 
only  do  not  so  there  because  we  have  been  taught  that  it  would 
be  wrong.    Our  architects  gravely  inform  us  that,  as  there  are 


174 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


four  rules  of  arithmetic,  there  are  five  orders  of  architecture  , 
we,  in  our  simplicity,  think  that  this  sounds  consistent,  and 
believe  them.  They  inform  us  also  that  there  is  one  proper 
form  for  Corinthian  capitals,  another  for  Doric,  and  another 
for  Ionic.  We,  considering  that  there  is  also  a  proper  form 
for  the  letters  A,  B,  and  C,  think  that  this  also  sounds  con- 
sistent, and  accept  the  proposition.  Understanding,  there- 
fore, that  one  form  of  the  said  capitals  is  proper,  and  no  other, 
and  having  a  conscientious  horror  of  all  impropriety,  we  allow 
the  architect  to  provide  us  with  the  said  capitals,  of  the 
proper  form,  in  such  and  such  a  quantity,  and  in  all  other 
points  to  take  care  that  the  legal  forms  are  observed  ;  which 
having  done,  we  rest  in  forced  confidence  that  we  are  well 
housed. 

§  xxvm.  But  our  higher  instincts  are  not  deceived.  We 
take  no  pleasure  in  the  building  provided  for  us,  resembling 
that  which  we  take  in  a  new  book  or  a  new  picture.  We  may 
be  proud  of  its  size,  complacent  in  its  correctness,  and  happy 
in  its  convenience.  We  may  take  the  same  pleasure  in  its 
symmetry  and  workmanship  as  in  a  well-ordered  room,  or  a 
skilful  piece  of  manufacture.  And  this  we  suppose  to  be  all 
the  pleasure  that  architecture  was  ever  intended  to  give  us. 
The  idea  of  reading  a  building  as  we  would  read  Milton  or 
Dante,  and  getting  the  same  kind  of  delight  out  of  the  stones 
as  out  of  the  stanzas,  never  enters  our  minds  for  a  moment. 
And  for  good  reason  : — There  is  indeed  rhythm  in  the  verses, 
quite  as  strict  as  the  symmetries  or  rhythm  of  the  architect- 
ure, and  a  thousand  times  more  beautiful,  but  there  is  some- 
thing else  than  rhythm.  The  verses  were  neither  made  to 
order,  nor  to  match,  as  the  capitals  were  ;  and  we  have  there- 
fore a  kind  of  pleasure  in  them  other  than  a  sense  of  pro- 
priety. But  it  requires  a  strong  effort  of  common  sense  to 
shake  ourselves  quit  of  all  that  we  have  been  taught  for  the 
last  two  centuries,  and  wake  to  the  perception  of  a  truth  just 
as  simple  and  certain  as  it  is  new  :  that  great  art,  whether 
expressing  itself  in  words,  colors,  or  stones,  does  not  say  the 
same  thing  over  and  over  again  ;  that  the  merit  of  architect- 
ural, as  of  every  other  art,  consists  in  its  saying  new  and 


THE  NATURE  OF  GOTHIC. 


175 


different  things ;  that  to  repeat  itself  is  no  more  a  character- 
istic  of  genius  in  marble  than  it  is  of  genius  in  print  ;  and 
that  we  may,  without  offending  any  laws  of  good  taste,  re- 
quire of  an  architect,  as  we  do  of  a  novelist,  that  he  should 
be  not  only  correct,  but  entertaining. 

Yet  all  this  is  true,  and  self-evident ;  only  hidden  from  \m} 
as  many  other  self-evident  things  are,  by  false  teaching. 
Nothing  is  a  great  work  of  art,  for  the  production  of  which 
either  rules  or  models  can  be  given.  Exactly  so  far  as  archi- 
tecture works  on  known  rules,  and  from  given  models,  it  is 
not  an  art,  but  a  manufacture  ;  and  it  is,  of  the  two  pro- 
cedures, rather  less  rational  (because  more  easy)  to  copy 
capitals  or  mouldings  from  Phidias,  and  call  ourselves  archi- 
tects, than  to  copy  heads  and  hands  from  Titian,  and  call  our- 
selves painters. 

§  xxix.  Let  us  then  understand  at  once,  that  change  or 
variety  is  as  much  a  necessity  to  the  human  heart  and  brain 
in  buildings  as  in  books  ;  that  there  is  no  merit,  though  there 
is  some  occasional  use,  in  monotony ;  and  that  we  must  no 
more  expect  to  derive  either  pleasure  or  profit  from  an  archi- 
tecture whose  ornaments  are  of  one  pattern,  and  whose  pillars 
are  of  one  proportion,  than  we  should  out  of  a  universe  in  which 
the  clouds  were  all  of  one  shape,  and  the  trees  all  of  one  size. 

§  xxx.  And  this  we  confess  in  deeds,  though  not  in  words. 
All  the  pleasure  which  the  people  of  the  nineteenth  century 
take  in  art,  is  in  pictures,  sculpture,  minor  objects  of  virtu,  or 
mediaeval  architecture,  which  we  enjoy  under  the  term  pictu- 
resque :  no  pleasure  is  taken  anywhere  in  modern  buildings, 
and  we  find  all  men  of  true  feeling  delighting  to  escape  out  of 
modern  cities  into  natural  scenery  :  hence,  as  I  shall  hereafter 
show,  that  peculiar  love  of  landscape  which  is  characteristic  of 
the  age.  It  would  be  well,  if,  in  all  other  matters,  we  were  as 
ready  to  put  up  with  what  we  dislike,  for  the  sake  of  compli- 
ance with  established  law,  as  we  are  in  architecture. 

§  xxxi.  How  so  debased  a  law  ever  came  to  be  established, 
we  shall  see  when  we  corne  to  describe  the  Renaissance 
schools  :  here  we  have  only  to  note,  as  the  second  most  essen- 
tial element  of  the  Gothic  spirit,  that  it  broke  through  that 


176 


THE  STONES  OB  VENICM. 


law  wherever  it  found  it  in  existence  ;  it  not  only  dared,  but 
delighted  in,  the  infringement  of  every  servile  principle  ;  and 
invented  a  series  of  forms  of  which  the  merit  was,  not  merely 
that  they  were  new,  but  that  they  were  capable  of  perpetual 
novelty.  The  pointed  arch  was  not  merely  a  bold  variation 
from  the  round,  but  it  admitted  of  millions  of  variations  in 
itself  ;  for  the  proportions  of  a  pointed  arch  are  changeable 
to  infinity,  while  a  circular  arch  is  always  the  same.  The 
grouped  shaft  was  not  merely  a  bold  variation  from  the  single 
one,  but  it  admitted  of  millions  of  variations  in  its  grouping, 
and  in  the  proportions  resultant  from  its  grouping.  The  in- 
troduction of  tracery  was  not  only  a  startling  change  in  the 
treatment  of  window  lights,  but  admitted  endless  changes  in 
the  interlacement  of  the  tracery  bars  themselves.  So  that, 
while  in  all  living  Christian  architecture  the  love  of  variety 
exists,  the  Gothic  schools  exhibited  that  love  in  culminating 
energy ;  and  their  influence,  wherever  it  extended  itself,  may 
be  sooner  and  farther  traced  by  this  character  than  by  any 
other  ;  the  tendency  to  the  adoption  of  Gothic  types  being 
always  first  shown  by  greater  irregularity  and  richer  variation 
in  the  forms  of  the  architecture  it  is  about  to  supersede,  long 
before  the  appearance  of  the  pointed  arch  or  of  any  other 
recognizable  outward  sign  of  the  Gothic  mind. 

§  xxxn.  We  must,  however,  herein  note  carefully  what  dis- 
tinction there  is  between  a  healthy  and  a  diseased  love  of 
change  ;  for  as  it  was  in  healthy  love  of  change  that  the 
Gothic  architecture  rose,  it  was  partly  in  consequence  of  dis- 
eased love  of  change  that  it  was  destroyed.  In  order  to  un- 
derstand this  clearly,  it  will  be  necessary  to  consider  the 
different  ways  in  which  change  and  monotony  are  presented 
to  us  in  nature  ;  both  having  their  use,  like  darkness  and 
light,  and  the  one  incapable  of  being  enjoyed  without  the 
other :  change  being  most  delightful  after  some  prolongation 
of  monotony,  as  light  appears  most  brilliant  after  the  eyes 
have  been  for  some  time  closed. 

§  xxxiii.  I  believe  that  the  true  relations  of  monotony  and 
change  may  be  most  simply  understood  by  observing  them  in 
music.    We  may  therein  notice,  first,  that  there  is  a  sublimity 


THE  MATURE  OF  GOTHIC. 


177 


and  majesty  in  monotony  which  there  is  not  in  rnpid  cr  fre« 
quent  variation.  This  is  true  throughout  all  nature.  The 
greater  part  of  the  sublimity  of  the  sea  depends  on  its  monot- 
ony ;  so  also  that  of  desolate  moor  and  mountain  scenery  ;  ana 
especially  the  sublimity  of  motion,  as  in  the  quiet,  unchanged 
fall  and  rise  of  an  engine  beam.  So  also  there  is  sublimity  in 
darkness  which  there  is  not  in  light. 

§  xxxiv.  Again,  monotony  after  a  certain  time,  or  beyond  a 
certain  degree,  becomes  either  uninteresting  or  intolerable, 
and  the  musician  is  obliged  to  break  it  in  one  or  two  ways  : 
either  while  the  air  or  passage  is  perpetually  repeated,  its 
notes  are  variously  enriched  and  harmonized  ;  or  else,  after  a 
certain  number  of  repeated  passages,  an  entirely  new  passage 
is  introduced,  which  is  more  or  less  delightful  according  to 
the  length  of  the  previous  monotony.  Nature,  of  course,  uses 
both  these  kinds  of  variation  perpetually.  The  sea-waves, 
resembling  each  other  in  general  mass,  but  none  like  its 
brother  in  minor  divisions  and  curves,  are  a  monotony  of  the 
first  kind  ;  the  great  plain,  broken  by  an  emergent  rock  or 
clump  of  trees,  is  a  monotony  of  the  second. 

§  xxxv.  Farther  :  in  order  to  the  enjoyment  of  the  change 
in  either  case,  a  certain  degree  of  patience  is  required  from 
the  hearer  or  observer.  In  the  first  case,  he  must  be  satisfied 
to  endure  with  patience  the  recurrence  of  the  great  masses  of 
sound  or  form,  and  to  seek  for  entertainment  in  a  careful 
watchfulness  of  the  minor  details.  In  the  second  case,  he 
must  bear  patiently  the  infliction  of  the  monotony  for  some 
moments,  in  order  to  feel  the  full  refreshment  of  the  change. 
This  is  true  even  of  the  shortest  musical  passage  in  which  the 
element  of  monotony  is  employed.  In  cases  of  more  majestic 
monotony,  the  patience  required  is  so  considerable  that  it  be- 
comes a  kind  of  pain, — a  price  paid  for  the  future  pleasure. 

§  xxxvi.  Again  :  the  talent  of  the  composer  is  not  in  the 
monotony,  but  in  the  changes  :  he  may  show  feeling  and  taste 
by  his  use  of  monotony  in  certain  places  or  degrees  ;  that  is  to 
say,  by  his  various  employment  of  it ;  but  it  is  always  in  the 
new  arrangement  or  invention  that  his  intellect  is  shown,  and 
not  in  the  monotony  which  relieves  it. 
Vol.  11—12 


178 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


Lastly  :  if  the  pleasure  of  change  be  too  often  repeated,  it 
ceases  to  be  delightful,  for  then  change  itself  becomes  monot- 
onous, and  we  are  driven  to  seek  delight  in  extreme  and  fan- 
tastic degrees  of  it.  This  is  the  diseased  love  of  change  of 
which  we  have  above  spoken. 

§  xxxvii.  From  these  facts  we  may  gather  generally  that 
monotony  is,  and  ought  to  be,  in  itself  painful  to  us,  just  as 
darkness  is  ;  that  an  architecture  which  is  altogether  monoto- 
nous is  a  dark  or  dead  architecture  ;  and,  of  those  who  love  it, 
it  may  be  truly  said,  "  they  love  darkness  rather  than  light." 
But  monotony  in  certain  measure,  used  in  order  to  give  value 
to  change,  and,  above  all,  that  transparent  monotony  which, 
like  the  shadows  of  a  great  painter,  suffers  all  manner  of  dimly 
suggested  form  to  be  seen  through  the  body  of  it,  is  an  essen- 
tial in  architectural  as  in  all  other  composition  ;  and  the  en- 
durance of  monotony  has  about  the  same  place  in  a  healthy 
mind  that  the  endurance  of  darkness  has :  that  is  to  say,  as  a 
strong  intellect  will  have  pleasure  in  the  solemnities  of  storm 
and  twilight,  and  in  the  broken  and  mysterious  lights  that 
gleam  among  them,  rather  than  in  mere  brilliancy  and  glare, 
while  a  frivolous  mind  will  dread  the  shadow  and  the  storm  ; 
and  as  a  great  man  will  be  ready  to  endure  much  darkness  of 
fortune  in  order  to  reach  greater  eminence  of  power  or  felicity, 
while  an  inferior  man  will  not  pay  the  price  ;  exactly  in  like 
manner  a  great  mind  will  accept,  or  even  delight  in,  monotony 
which  would  be  wearisome  to  an  inferior  intellect,  because  it 
has  more  patience  and  power  of  expectation,  and  is  ready  to 
pay  the  full  price  for  the  great  future  pleasure  of  change.  But 
in  all  cases  it  is  not  that  the  noble  nature  loves  monotony, 
any  more  than  it  loves  darkness  or  pain.  But  it  can  bear  with 
it,  and  receives  a  high  pleasure  in  the  endurance  or  patience, 
a  pleasure  necessary  to  the  well-being  of  this  world  ;  while 
those  who  will  not  submit  to  the  temporary  sameness,  but 
rush  from  one  change  to  another,  gradually  dull  the  edge  of 
change  itself,  and  bring  a  shadow  and  wreariness  over  the 
wThole  wTorld  from  which  there  is  no  more  escape. 

§  xxxviii.  From  these  general  uses  of  variety  in  the  econ- 
omy of  the  world,  we  may  at  once  understand  its  use  and 


TEE  NATURE  OF  GOTHIC. 


170 


abuse  in  architecture.  The  variety  of  the  Gothic  schools  is 
the  more  healthy  and  beautiful,  because  in  many  cases  it  is 
entirely  unstudied,  and  results,  not  from  the  mere  love  of 
change,  but  from  practical  necessities.  For  in  one  point  of 
view  Gothic  is  not  only  the  best,  but  the  only  rational  archi- 
tecture, as  being  that  which  can  fit  itself  most  easily  to  all  ser- 
vices, vulgar  or  noble.  Undefined  in  its  slope  of  roof,  height 
of  shaft,  breadth  of  arch,  or  disposition  of  ground  plan,  it  can 
shrink  into  a  turret,  expand  into  a  hall,  coil  into  a  staircase,  or 
spring  into  a  spire,  with  undegraded  grace  and  unexhausted 
energy  ;  and  whenever  it  finds  occasion  for  change  in  its  form 
or  purpose,  it  submits  to  it  without  the  slightest  sense  of  loss 
either  to  its  unity  or  majesty, — subtle  and  flexible  like  a  fiery 
serpent,  but  ever  attentive  to  the  voice  of  the  charmer.  And 
it  is  one  of  the  chief  virtues  of  the  Gothic  builders,  that  they 
never  suffered  ideas  of  outside  symmetries  and  consistencies 
to  interfere  with  the  real  use  and  value  of  what  they  did.  If 
they  wanted  a  window,  they  opened  one  ;  a  room,  they  added 
one  ;  a  buttress,  they  built  one  ;  utterly  regardless  of  any  es- 
tablished conventionalities  of  external  appearance,  knowing  (as 
indeed  it  always  happened)  that  such  daring  interruptions  of 
the  formal  plan  would  rather  give  additional  interest  to  its 
symmetry  than  injure  it.  So  that,  in  the  best  times  of  Gothic, 
a  useless  window  would  rather  have  been  opened  in  an  unex- 
pected place  for  the  sake  of  the  surprise,  than  a  useful  one 
forbidden  for  the  sake  of  symmetry.  Every  successive  archi- 
tect, employed  upon  a  great  work,  built  the  pieces  he  added 
in  his  own  way,  utterly  regardless  of  the  style  adopted  by  his 
predecessors  ;  and  if  two  towers  were  raised  in  nominal  cor- 
respondence at  the  sides  of  a  cathedral  front,  one  was  nearly 
sure  to  be  different  from  the  other,  and  in  each  the  style  at 
the  top  to  be  different  from  the  style  at  the  bottom.* 

§  xxxix.  These  marked  variations  were,  however,  only  per- 
mitted as  part  of  the  great  system  of  perpetual  change  which 
ran  through  every  member  of  Gothic  design,  and  rendered  it 

*  In  the  eighth  chapter  we  shall  see  a  remarkable  instance  of  this 
sacrifice  of  symmetry  to  convenience  in  the  arrangement  of  the  windows 
of  the  Ducal  Palace. 


ISO 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


as  endless  a  field  for  the  beholder's  inquiry,  as  for  the  builder's 
imagination  :  change,  which  in  the  best  schools  is  subtle  and 
delicate,  and  rendered  more  delightful  by  intermingling  of  a 
noble  monotony  ;  in  the  more  barbaric  schools  is  somewhat 
fantastic  and  redundant  ;  but,  in  all,  a  necessary  and  constant 
condition  of  the  life  of  the  school.  Sometimes  the  variety  is 
in  one  feature,  sometimes  in  another  ;  it  maybe  in  the  capitals 
or  crockets,  in  the  niches  or  the  traceries,  or  in  all  together, 
but  in  some  one  or  other  of  the  features  it  will  be  found 
always.  If  the  mouldings  are  constant,  the  surface  sculpture 
will  change  ;  if  the  capitals  are  of  a  fixed  design,  the  traceries 
will  change  ;  if  the  traceries  are  monotonous,  the  capitals  will 
change  ;  and  if  even,  as  in  some  fine  schools,  the  early  English 
for  example,  there  is  the  slightest  approximation  to  an  unvary- 
ing type  of  mouldings,  capitals,  and  floral  decoration,  the 
variety  is  found  in  the  disposition  of  the  masses,  and  in  the 
figure  sculpture. 


§  xl.  I  must  now  refer  for  a  moment,  before  we  quit  the 
consideration  of  this,  the  second  mental  element  of  Gothic,  to 
the  opening  of  the  third  chapter  of  the  "Seven  Lamps  of  Ar- 
chitecture," in  which  the  distinction  was  drawn  (§  2)  between 
man  gathering  and  man  governing ;  between  his  acceptance 
of  the  sources  of  delight  from  nature,  and  his  developement  of 
authoritative  or  imaginative  power  in  their  arrangement :  for 
the  two  mental  elements,  not  only  of  Gothic,  but  of  all  good 
architecture,  which  we  have  just  been  examining,  belong  to  it, 
and  are  admirable  in  it,  chiefly  as  it  is,  more  than  any  other 
subject  of  art,  the  w^ork  of  man,  and  the  expression  of  the 
average  power  of  man.  A  picture  or  poem  is  often  little  more 
than  a  feeble  utterance  of  man's  admiration  of  something  out 
of  himself ;  but  architecture  approaches  more  to  a  creation  of 
his  own,  born  of  his  necessities,  and  expressive  of  his  nature. 
It  is  also,  in  some  sort,  the  work  of  the  whole  race,  while  the 
picture  or  statue  are  the  work  of  one  only,  in  most  cases  more 
highly  gifted  than  his  fellows.  And  therefore  we  may  expect 
that  the  first  two  elements  of  good  architecture  should  be  ex- 
pressive of  some  great  truths  commonly  belonging  to  the  whole 
race,  and  necessaiy  to  be  understood  or  felt  by  them  in  ali 


THE  NATURE  OF  GOTHIC. 


1S1 


their  work  that  they  do  under  the  sun.  And  observe  what 
they  are  :  the  confession  of  Imperfection  and  the  confession  of 
Desire  of  Change.  The  building  of  the  bird  and  the  bee  needs 
not  express  anything  like  this.  It  is  perfect  and  unchanging. 
But  just  because  we  are  something  better  than  birds  or  bees, 
our  building  must  confess  that  we  have  not  reached  the  perfec- 
tion we  can  imagine,  and  cannot  rest  in  the  condition  we  have 
attained.  If  we  pretend  to  have  reached  either  perfection  or 
satisfaction,  we  have  degraded  ourselves  and  our  work.  God's 
work  only  may  express  that  ;  but  ours  may  never  have  that 
sentence  written  upon  it, — "  And  behold,  it  was  very  good." 
And,  observe  again,  it  is  not  merely  as  it  renders  the  edifice  a 
book  of  various  knowledge,  or  a  mine  of  precious  thought,  that 
variety  is  essential  to  its  nobleness.  The  vital  principle  is  not 
the  love  of  Knoicledge,  but  the  love  of  Change.  It  is  that 
strange  disquietude  of  the  Gothic  spirit  that  is  its  greatness  ; 
that  restlessness  of  the  dreaming  mind,  that  wanders  hither 
and  thither  among  the  niches,  and  flickers  feverishly  around 
the  pinnacles,  and  frets  and  fades  in  labyrinthine  knots  and 
shadows  along  w7all  and  roof,  and  yet  is  not  satisfied,  nor  shall 
be  satisfied.  The  Greek  could  stay  in  his  triglyph  furrow,  and 
be  at  peace  ;  but  the  work  of  the  Gothic  heart  is  fretwork  still, 
and  it  can  neither  rest  in,  nor  from,  its  labor,  but  must  pass  on, 
sleeplessly,  until  its  love  of  change  shall  be  pacified  for  ever  in 
the  change  that  must  come  alike  on  them  that  wake  and  them 
that  sleep. 

§  xll  The  third  constituent  element  of  the  Gothic  mind 
was  stated  to  be  Naturalism  ;  that  is  to  say,  the  love  of  natu- 
ral objects  for  their  own  sake,  and  the  effort  to  represent  them 
frankly,  unconstrained  by  artistical  laws. 

This  characteristic  of  the  style  partly  follows  in  necessary 
connexion  with  those  named  above.  For,  so  soon  as  the 
workman  is  left  free  to  represent  what  subjects  he  chooses, 
he  must  look  to  the  nature  that  is  round  him  for  material, 
and  will  endeavor  to  represent  it  as  he  sees  it,  with  more  or 
less  accuracy  according  to  the  skill  he  possesses,  and  with 
much  play  of  fancy,  but  with  sniall  respect  for  law.  There  is, 
however,  a  marked  distinction  between  the  imaginations  of 


182 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


the  Western  and  Eastern  races,  even  when  both  are  left  free? 
the  Western,  or  Gothic,  delighting  most  in  the  representation 
of  facts,  and  the  Eastern  (Arabian,  Persian,  and  Chinese)  in 
the  harmony  of  colors  and  forms.  Each  of  these  intellectual 
dispositions  has  its  particular  forms  of  error  and  abuse,  which, 
though  I  have  often  before  stated,  I  must  here  again  briefly 
explain  ;  and  this  the  rather,  because  the  word  Naturalism  is, 
in  one  of  its  senses,  justly  used  as  a  term  of  reproach,  and  the 
questions  respecting  the  real  relations  of  art  and  nature  are 
so  many  and  so  confused  throughout  all  the  schools  of  Europe 
at  this  day,  that  I  cannot  clearly  enunciate  any  single  truth 
without  appearing  to  admit,  in  fellowship  with  it,  some  kind 
of  error,  unless  the  reader  will  bear  with  me  in  entering  into 
such  an  analysis  of  the  subject  as  will  serve  us  for  general 
guidance. 

§  xlii.  We  are  to  remember,  in  the  first  place,  that  the  ar- 
rangement of  colors  and  lines  is  an  art  analogous  to  the  com- 
position *  of  music,  and  entirely  independent  of  the  represen- 
tation of  facts.  Good  coloring  does  not  necessarily  convey 
the  image  of  anything  but  itself.  It  consists  in  certain  pro- 
portions and  arrangements  of  rays  of  light,  but  not  in  like- 
nesses to  anything.  A  few  touches  of  certain  greys  and 
purples  laid  by  a  master's  hand  on  white  paper,  will  be  good 
coloring ;  as  more  touches  are  added  beside  them,  we  may 
find  out  that  they  were  intended  to  represent  a  dove's  neck, 
and  we  may  praise,  as  the  drawing  advances,  the  perfect  imi- 

*  I  am  always  afraid  to  use  this  word  "  Composition  ; "  it  is  so  utterly 
misused  in  the  general  parlance  respecting  art.  Nothing  is  more  com- 
mon than  to  hear  divisions  of  art  into  "form,  composition,  and  color," 
or  "  light  and  shade  and  composition,"  or  "sentiment  and  composition, " 
or  it  matters  not  what  else  and  composition  ;  the  speakers  in  each  case 
attaching  a  perfectly  different  meaning  to  the  word,  generally  an  indis- 
tinct one,  and  always  a  wrong  one.  Composition  is,  in  plain  English, 
"  putting  together,"  and  it  means  the  putting  together  of  lines  of  forms, 
of  colors,  of  shades,  or  of  ideas.  Painters  compose  in  color,  compose  in 
thought,  compose  in  form,  and  compose  in  effect  :  the  word  being  of 
use  merely  in  order  to  express  a  scientific,  disciplined,  and  inventive 
arrangement  of  any  of  these,  instead  of  a  merely  uatuial  or  accidental 
one. 


THE  NATURE  OF  GOTHIC. 


183 


tation  of  the  dove's  neck.  But  the  good  coloring  does  not 
consist  in  that  imitation,  but  in  the  abstract  qualities  and  re- 
lations of  the  grey  and  purple. 

In  like  manner,  as  soon  as  a  great  sculptor  begins  to  shape 
his  work  out  of  the  block,  we  shall  see  that  its  lines  are  nobly 
arranged,  and  of  noble  character.  We  may  not  have  the 
slightest  idea  for  what  the  forms  are  intended,  whether  they 
are  of  man  or  beast,  of  vegetation  or  drapery.  Their  likeness 
to  anything  does  not  affect  their  nobleness.  They  are  mag- 
nificent forms,  and  that  is  all  we  need  care  to  know  of  them, 
in  order  to  say  whether  the  workman  is  a  good  or  bad  sculp- 
tor. 

§  xliii.  Nowr  the  noblest  art  is  an  exact  unison  of  the  ab- 
stract value,  with  the  imitative  power,  of  forms  and  colors. 
It  is  the  noblest  composition,  used  to  express  the  noblest  facts. 
But  the  human  mind  cannot  in  general  unite  the  two  perfec- 
tions :  it  either  pursues  the  fact  to  the  neglect  of  the  compo- 
sition, or  pursues  the  composition  to  the  neglect  of  the  fact. 

§  xliv.  And  it  is  intended  by  the  Deity  that  it  should  do 
this  ;  the  best  art  is  not  always  wanted.  Facts  are  often 
wanted  without  art,  as  in  a  geological  diagram  ;  and  art  often 
without  facts,  as  in  a  Turkey  carpet.  And  most  men  have 
been  made  capable  of  giving  either  one  or  the  other,  but  not 
both  ;  only  one  or  two,  the  very  highest,  can  give  both. 

Observe  then.  Men  are  universally  divided,  as  respects 
their  artistical  qualifications,  into  three  great  classes  ;  a  right, 
a  left,  and  a  centre.  On  the  right  side  are  the  men  of  facts, 
on  the  left  the  men  of  design,*  in  the  centre  the  men  of  both. 

The  three  classes  of  course  pass  into  each  other  by  imper- 
ceptible gradations.  The  men  of  facts  are  hardly  ever  alto- 
gether without  powers  of  design  ;  the  men  of  design  are  al- 
ways in  some  measure  cognizant  of  facts  ;  and  as  each  class 
possesses  more  or  less  of  the  powers  of  the  opposite  one,  it 
approaches  to  the  character  of  the  central  class.    Few  men, 

*  Design  is  used  in  this  place  as  expressive  of  the  power  to  arrange 
lines  and  colors  nobly.  By  facts,  I  mean  facts  perceived  by  the  eye  and 
mind,  not  facts  accumulated  by  knowledge.  See  the  chapter  on  Romar 
Renaissance  (Vol.  III.  Chap.  II.)  for  this  distinction. 

<\ 


184 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


even  in  that  central  rank,  are  so  exactly  throned  on  the  sum- 
mit of  the  crest  that  they  cannot  be  perceived  to  incline  in  the 
least  one  way  or  the  other,  embracing  both  horizons  with  their 
glance.  Now  each  of  these  classes  has,  as  I  above  said,  a 
healthy  function  in  the  world,  and  correlative  diseases  or  un- 
healthy functions ;  and,  when  the  work  of  either  of  them  is 
seen  in  its  morbid  condition,  we  are  apt  to  find  fault  with  the 
class  of  workmen,  instead  of  finding  fault  only  with  the  par- 
ticular abuse  which  has  perverted  their  action. 

§  xlv.  Let  us  first  take  an  instance  of  the  healthy  action  of 
the  three  classes  on  a  simple  subject,  so  as  fully  to  understand 
the  distinction  between  them,  and  then  we  shall  more  easily 
examine  the  corruptions  to  which  they  are  liable.  Fig.  1  in 
Plate  VI.  is  a  spray  of  vine  with  a  bough  of  cherry-tree,  which 
I  have  outlined  from  nature  as  accurately  as  I  could,  without 
in  the  least  endeavoring  to  compose  or  arrange  the  form.  It 
is  a  simple  piece  of  fact-work,  healthy  and  good  as  such,  and 
useful  to  any  one  who  wanted  to  know  plain  truths  about  ten- 
drils of  vines,  but  there  is  no  attempt  at  design  in  it.  Plate 
XIX.,  below,  represents  a  branch  of  vine  used  to  decorate  the 
angle  of  the  Ducal  Palace.  It  is  faithful  as  a  representation 
of  vine,  and  yet  so  designed  that  every  leaf  serves  an  archi- 
tectural purpose,  and  could  not  be  spared  from  its  place  with- 
out harm.  This  is  central  work  ;  fact  and  design  together. 
Fig.  2  in  Plate  VI.  is  a  spandril  from  St.  Mark's,  in  which  the 
forms  of  the  vine  are  dimly  suggested,  the  object  of  the  design 
being  merely  to  obtain  graceful  lines  and  well  proportioned 
masses  upon  the  gold  ground.  There  is  not  the  least  attempt 
to  inform  the  spectator  of  any  facts  about  the  growth  of  the 
vine  ;  there  are  no  stalks  or  tendrils, — merely  running  bands 
with  leaves  emergent  from  them,  of  which  nothing  but  the 
outline  is  taken  from  the  vine,  and  even  that  imperfectly 
This  is  design,  unregardful  of  facts. 

Now  the  work  is,  in  all  these  three  cases,  perfectly  healthy. 
Fig.  1  is  not  bad  work  because  it  has  not  design,  nor  Fig.  2 
bad  work  because  it  has  not  facts.  The  object  of  the  one  is  to 
give  pleasure  through  truth,  and  of  the  other  to  give  pleasure 
through  composition.    And  both  are  right, 


THE  NATURE  OF  GOTHIC. 


185 


What,  then,  are  the  diseased  operations  to  which  the  three 
classes  of  workmen  are  liable '? 

§  xlvi.  Primarily,  two  ;  affecting  the  two  inferior  classes  : 

1st,  When  either  of  those  two  classes  Despises  the  other  ; 

2nd,  When  either  of  the  two  classes  Envies  the  other ;  pro- 
ducing, therefore,  four  forms  of  dangerous  error. 

First,  when  the  men  of  facts  despise  design.  This  is  the 
error  of  the  common  Dutch  painters,  of  merely  imitative 
painters  of  still  life,  flowers,  &c,  and  other  men  who,  having 
either  the  gift  of  accurate  imitation  or  strong  sympathies  with 
nature,  suppose  that  all  is  done  when  the  imitation  is  jDerfected 
or  sympathy  expressed.  A  large  body  of  English  landscapists 
come  into  this  class,  including  most  clever  sketchers  from  nat- 
ure, who  fancy  that  to  get  a  sky  of  true  tone,  and  a  gleam  of 
sunshine  or  sweep  of  shower  faithfully  expressed,  is  all  that 
can  be  required  of  art.  These  men  are  generally  themselves 
answerable  for  much  of  their  deadness  of  feeling  to  the  higher 
qualities  of  composition.  They  probably  have  not  originally 
the  high  gifts  of  design,  but  they  lose  such  powers  as  they 
originally  possessed  by  despising,  and  refusing  to  study,  the 
results  of  great  power  of  design  in  others.  Their  knowledge, 
as  far  as  it  goes,  being  accurate,  they  are  usually  presumptu- 
ous and  self-conceited,  and  gradually  become  incapable  of  ad- 
miring anything  but  what  is  like  their  own  works.  They  see 
nothing  in  the  works  of  great  designers  but  the  faults,  and  do 
harm  almost  incalculable  in  the  European  society  of  the  pres- 
ent day  by  sneering  at  the  compositions  of  the  greatest  men 
of  the  earlier  ages,*  because  they  do  not  absolutely  tally  with 
their  own  ideas  of  "  Nature." 

§  xlvii.  The  second  form  of  error  is  when  the  men  of  design 
despise  facts.  All  noble  design  must  deal  with  facts  to  a  cer- 
tain extent,  for  there  is  no  food  for  it  but  in  nature.  The  best 
colorist  invents  best  by  taking  hints  from  natural  colors  ;  from 
birds,  skies,  or  groups  of  figures.  And  if,  in  the  delight  of 
inventing  fantastic  color  and  form  the  truths  of  nature  are 

*  u  Earlier,"  that  is  to  say,  pre-Raphaelite  ages.  Men  of  this  stamp 
will  praise  Claude,  and  such  other  comparatively  debased  artists  ;  but 
they  cannot  taste  the  work  of  the  thirteenth  century. 


ISC 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


wilfully  neglected,  the  intellect  becomes  comparatively  det 
crepit,  and  that  state  of  art  results  which  we  find  among  the 
Chinese.  The  Greek  designers  delighted  in  the  facts  of  the 
human  form,  and  became  great  in  consequence  ;  but  the  facts 
of  lower  nature  were  disregarded  b}r  them,  and  their  inferior 
ornament  became,  therefore,  dead  and  valueless. 

§  xlviii.  The  third  form  of  error  is  when  the  men  of  facts 
envy  design  :  that  is  to  say,  when,  having  only  imitative 
powers,  they  refuse  to  employ  those  powers  upon  the  visible 
world  around  them  ;  but,  having  been  taught  that  composition 
is  the  end  of  art,  strive  to  obtain  the  inventive  powers  which 
nature  has  denied  them,  study  nothing  but  the  works  of  re- 
puted designers,  and  perish  in  a  fungous  growth  of  plagiarism 
and  laws  of  art. 

Here  was  the  great  error  of  the  beginning  of  this  century  ; 
it  is  the  error  of  the  meanest  kind  of  men  that  employ  them- 
selves in  painting,  and  it  is  the  most  fatal  of  all,  rendering 
those  who  fall  into  it  utterly  useless,  incapable  of  helping  the 
world  with  either  truth  or  fancy,  while,  in  all  probability,  they 
deceive  it  by  base  resemblances  of  both,  until  it  hardly  recog- 
nizes truth  or  fancy  when  they  really  exist. 

§  xlix.  The  fourth  form  of  error  is  when  the  men  of  design 
envy  facts  ;  that  is  to  say,  when  the  temptation  of  closely  imi- 
tating nature  leads  them  to  forget  their  own  proper  orna- 
mental function,  and  when  they  lose  the  power  of  the  compo- 
sition for  the  sake  of  graphic  truth  ;  as,  for  instance,  in  the 
hawthorn  moulding  so  often  spoken  of  round  the  porch  of 
Bourges  Cathedral,  which,  though  very  lovely,  might  perhaps, 
as  we  saw  above,  have  been  better,  if  the  old  builder,  in  his 
excessive  desire  to  make  it  look  like  hawthorn,  had  not  painted 
it  green. 

§  l.  It  is,  however,  carefully  to  be  noted,  that  the  two  mor- 
bid conditions  to  which  the  men  of  facts  are  liable  are  much 
more  dangerous  and  harmful  than  those  to  which  the  men  of 
design  are  liable.  The  morbid  state  of  men  of  design  injures 
themselves  only  ;  that  of  the  men  of  facts  injures  the  whole 
world.  The  Chinese  porcelain -painter  is,  indeed,  not  so  great 
a  man  as  he  might  be,  but  he  does  not  want  to  break  every- 


THE  NATURE  OF  GOTHIC. 


isr 


thing  that  is  not  porcelain  ;  but  the  modern  English  fact- 
hunter,  despising  design,  wants  to  destroy  everything  that 
does  not  agree  with  his  own  notions  of  truth,  and  becomes  the 
most  dangerous  and  despicable  of  iconoclasts,  excited  by  ego- 
tism instead  of  religion.  Again  :  the  Bourges  sculptor,  paint- 
ing his  hawthorns  green,  did  indeed  somewhat  hurt  the  effect 
of  his  own  beautiful  design,  but  did  not  prevent  anyone  from 
loving  hawthorn :  but  Sir  George  Beaumont,  trying  to  make 
Constable  paint  grass  brown  instead  of  green,  was  setting  him- 
self between  Constable  and  nature,  blinding  the  painter,  and 
blaspheming  the  work  of  God. 

§  li.  So  much,  then,  of  the  diseases  of  the  inferior  classes, 
caused  by  their  envying  or  despising  each  other.  It  is  evident 
that  the  men  of  the  central  class  cannot  be  liable  to  any  mor- 
bid operation  of  this  kind,  they  possessing  the  powers  of 
both. 

But  there  is  another  order  of  diseases  which  affect  all  the 
three  classes,  considered  with  respect  to  their  pursuit  of  facts. 
For  observe,  all  the  three  classes  are  in  some  degree  pursuers 
of  facts ;  even  the  men  of  design  not  being  in  any  case  alto- 
gether independent  of  external  truth.  Now,  considering  them 
all  as  more  or  less  searchers  after  truth,  there  is  another  triple 
division  to  be  made  of  them.  Everything  presented  to  them 
in  nature  has  good  and  evil  mingled  in  it :  and  artists,  con- 
sidered as  searchers  after  truth,  are  again  to  be  divided  into 
three  great  classes,  a  right,  a  left,  and  a  centre.  Those  on  the 
right  perceive,  and  pursue,  the  good,  and  leave  the  evil :  those 
(n  the  centre,  the  greatest,  perceive  and  pursue  the  good  and 
evil  together,  the  whole  thing  as  it  verily  is  :  those  on  the  left 
perceive  and  pursue  the  evil,  and  leave  the  good. 

§  lii.  The  first  class,  I  say,  take  the  good  and  leave  the 
evil.  Out  of  whatever  is  presented  to  them,  they  gather  what 
it  has  of  grace,  and  life,  and  light,  and  holiness,  and  leave  all, 
or  at  least  as  much  as  possible,  of  the  rest  undrawn.  The 
faces  of  their  figures  express  no  evil  passions  ;  the  skies  of 
their  landscapes  are  without  storm  ;  the  prevalent  character 
of  their  color  is  brightness,  and  of  their  chiaroscuro  fulness  of 
light.    The  early  Italian  and  Flemish  painters,  Angelico  and 


18S 


TIIE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


Hembling,  Perugino,  Francia,  Raffaelie  in  his  best  time,  John 
Bellini,  and  our  own  Stothard,  belong*  eminently  to  this  class. 

§  rail.  The  second,  or  greatest  class,  render  all  that  they  see 
in  nature  unhesitatingly,  with  a  kind  of  divine  grasp  and 
government  of  the  whole,  sympathizing  with  all  the  good,  and 
yet  confessing,  permitting,  and  bringing  good  out  of  the  evil 
also.  Their  subject  is  infinite  as  nature,  their  color  equally 
balanced  between  splendor  and  sadness,  reaching  occasionally 
the  highest  degrees  of  both,  and  their  chiaroscuro  equally 
balanced  between  light  and  shade. 

The  principal  men  of  this  class  are  Michael  Angelo,  Leon- 
ardo, Giotto,  Tintoret,  and  Turner.  Raffaelie  in  his  second 
time,  Titian,  and  Rubens  are  transitional  ;  the  first  inclining 
to  the  eclectic,  and  the  last  two  to  the  impure  class,  Kaffaelle 
rarely  giving  all  the  evil,  Titian  and  Kubens  rarely  all  the 
good. 

§  liv.  The  last  class  perceive,  and  imitate  evil  only.  They 
cannot  draw  the  trunk  of  a  tree  without  blasting  and  shatter- 
ing it,  nor  a  sky  except  covered  with  stormy  clouds  :  they  de- 
light in  the  beggary  and  brutality  of  the  human  race  ;  their 
color  is  for  the  most  part  subdued  or  lurid,  and  the  greatest 
spaces  of  their  pictures  are  occupied  by  darkness. 

Happily  the  examples  of  this  class  are  seldom  seen  in  per- 
fection. Salvator  Rosa  and  Caravaggio  are  the  most  charac- 
teristic :  the  other  men  belonging  to  it  approach  towards  the 
central  rank  by  imperceptible  gradations,  as  they  perceive  and 
represent  more  and  more  of  good.  But  Murillo,  Zurbaran, 
Camillo  Procaccini,  Rembrandt,  and  Teniers,  all  belong  nat- 
urally to  this  lower  class. 

§  lv.  Now,  observe  :  the  three  classes  into  which  artists 
were  previously  divided,  of  men  of  fact,  men  of  design,  and 
men  of  both,  are  all  of  Divine  institution  ;  but  of  these  latter 
three,  the  last  is  in  no  wise  of  Divine  institution.  It  is  entirely 
human,  and  the  men  who  belong  to  it  have  sunk  into  it  by 
their  own  faults.  They  are,  so  far  forth,  either  useless  or 
harmful  men.  It  is  indeed  good  that  evil  should  be  occasion- 
ally represented,  even  in  its  worst  forms,  but  never  that  it 
should  be  taken  delight  in  :  and  the  mighty  men  of  the  central 


THE  NATURE  OF  GOTHIC. 


189 


class  will  always  give  us  all  that  is  needful  of  it ;  sometimes,  as 
Hogarth  did,  dwelling  upon  it  bitterly  as  satirists, — but  this 
with  the  more  effect,  because  they  will  neither  exaggerate  it,  nor 
represent  it  mercilessly,  and  without  the  atoning  points  that  all 
evil  shows  to  a  Divinely  guided  glance,  even  at  its  deepest. 
So  then,  though  the  third  class  will  always,  I  fear,  in  some 
measure  exist,  the  two  necessary  classes  are  only  the  first  two  ; 
and  this  is  so  far  acknowledged  by  the  general  sense  of  men, 
that  the  basest  class  has  been  confounded  with  the  second  ;  and 
painters  have  been  divided  commonly  only  into  two  ranks,  now 
known,  I  believe,  throughout  Europe  by  the  names  which  they 
first  received  in  Italy,  "  Puristiand  Naturalisti."  Since,  how- 
ever, in  the  existing  state  of  things,  the  degraded  or  evil- 
loving  class,  though  less  defined  than  that  of  the  Puristi,  is 
just  as  vast  as  it  is  indistinct,  this  division  has  done  infinite 
dishonor  to  the  great  faithful  painters  of  nature  :  and  it  has 
long  been  one  of  the  objects  I  have  had  most  at  heart  to 
show  that,  in  reality,  the  Purists,  in  their  sanctity,  are  less 
separated  from  these  natural  painters  than  the  Sensualists  in 
their  foulness  ;  and  that  the  difference,  though  less  discernible, 
is  in  reality  greater,  between  the  man  who  pursues  evil  for 
its  own  sake,  and  him  who  bears  with  it  for  the  sake  of  truth, 
than  between  this  latter  and  the  man  who  will  not  endure  it 
at  all. 

§  lvi.  Let  us,  then,  endeavor  briefly  to  mark  the  real  rela- 
tions of  these  three  vast  ranks  of  men,  whom  I  shall  call,  for 
convenience  in  speaking  of  them,  Purists,  Naturalists,  and 
Sensualists  ;  not  that  these  terms  express  their  real  characters, 
but  I  know  no  word,  and  cannot  coin  a  convenient  one,  which 
would  accurately  express  the  opposite  of  Purist  ;  and  I  keep 
the  terms  Purist  and  Naturalist  in  order  to  comply,  as  far  as 
possible,  with  the  established  usage  of  language  on  the  Conti- 
nent. Now,  observe  :  in  saying  that  nearly  everything  pre- 
sented to  us  in  nature  has  mingling  in  it  of  good  and  evil,  I 
do  not  mean  that  nature  is  conceivably  improvable,  or  that 
anything  that  God  has  made  could  be  called  evil,  if  we  could 
see  far  enough  into  its  uses,  but  that,  with  respect  to  immedi- 
ate effects  or  appearances,  it  may  be  so,  just  as  the  hard  rind 


190 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


or  bitter  kernel  of  a  fruit  may  be  an  evil  to  the  eater,  though 
in  the  one  is  the  protection  of  the  fruit,  and  in  the  other  its 
continuance.  The  Purist,  therefore,  does  not  mend  nature, 
but  receives  from  nature  and  from  God  that  which  is  good 
for  him  ;  while  the  Sensualist  fills  himself  "  with  the  husks 
that  the  swine  did  eat." 

The  three  classes  may,  therefore,  be  likened  to  men  reaping 
wheat,  of  which  the  Purists  take  the  fine  Hour,  and  the  Sen- 
sualists the  chaff  and  straw,  but  the  Naturalists  take  all  home, 
and  make  their  cake  of  the  one,  and  their  couch  of  the  other. 

§  lvii.  For  instance.  We  know  more  certainly  every  day 
that  whatever  appears  to  us  harmful  in  the  universe  has  some 
beneficent  or  necessary  operation  ;  that  the  storm  which  de- 
stroys a  harvest  brightens  the  sunbeams  for  harvests  yet  un- 
sown, and  that  the  volcano  which  buries  a  city  preserves  a 
thousand  from  destruction.  But  the  evil  is  not  for  the  time 
less  fearful,  because  we  have  learned  it  to  be  necessary  ;  and 
we  easily  understand  the  timidity  or  the  tenderness  of  the 
spirit  which  would  withdraw  itself  from  the  presence  of  de- 
struction, and  create  in  its  imagination  a  world  of  which  the 
peace  should  be  unbroken,  in  which  the  sky  should  not  dark- 
en nor  the  sea  rage,  in  which  the  leaf  should  not  change 
nor  the  blossom  wither.  That  man  is  greater,  however,  who 
contemplates  with  an  equal  mind  the  alternations  of  terror 
and  of  beauty  ;  who,  not  rejoicing  less  beneath  the  sunny 
sky,  can  bear  also  to  watch  the  bars  of  twilight  narrowing  on 
the  horizon  ;  and,  not  less  sensible  to  the  blessing  of  the 
peace  of  nature,  can  rejoice  in  the  magnificence  of  the  ordi- 
nances by  which  that  peace  is  protected  and  secured.  But 
separated  from  both  by  an  immeasurable  distance  would  be 
the  man  who  delighted  in  convulsion  and  disease  for  their 
own  sake  ;  who  found  his  daily  food  in  the  disorder  of  nature 
mingled  with  the  suffering  of  humanity  ;  and  watched  joy- 
fully at  the  right  hand  of  the  Angel  whose  appointed  work  is 
to  destroy  as  well  as  to  accuse,  while  the  corners  of  the  House 
of  feasting  were  struck  by  the  wind  from  the  wilderness. 

§  Lviii.  And  far  more  is  this  true,  when  the  subject  of  con- 
templation is  humanity  itself.    The  passions  of  mankind  are 


THE  NATURE  OF  GOTHIC, 


191 


partly  protective,  partly  beneficent,  like  the  chaff  and  grain 
of  the  corn  ;  but  none  without  their  use,  none  without  noble- 
ness when  seen  in  balanced  unity  with  the  rest  of  the  spirit 
which  they  are  charged  to  defend.  The  passions  of  which 
the  end  is  the  continuance  of  the  race  ;  the  indignation  which 
is  to  arm  it  against  injustice,  or  strengthen  it  to  resist  wanton 
injury  ;  and  the  fear  *  which  lies  at  the  root  of  prudence,  rev- 
erence, and  awe,  are  all  honorable  and  beautiful,  so  long  as 
man  is  regarded  in  his  relations  to  the  existing  world.  The 
religious  Purist,  striving  to  conceive  him  withdrawn  from 
those  relations,  effaces  from  the  countenance  the  traces  of  all 
transitory  passion,  illumines  it  with  holy  hope  and  love,  and 
seals  it  with  the  serenity  of  heavenly  peace  ;  he  conceals  the 
forms  of  the  body  by  the  deep-folded  garment,  or  else  repre- 
sents them  under  severely  chastened  types,  and  would  rather 
paint  them  emaciated  by  the  fast,  or  pale  from  the  torture, 
than  strengthened  by  exertion,  or  flushed  by  emotion.  But 
the  great  Naturalist  takes  the  human  being  in  its  wholeness, 
in  its  mortal  as  wTell  as  its  spiritual  strength.  Capable  of 
sounding  and  sympathizing  with  the  whole  range  of  its  pas- 
sions, he  brings  one  majestic  harmony  out  of  them  all  ;  he 
represents  it  fearlessly  in  all  its  acts  and  thoughts,  in  its 
haste,  its  anger,  its  sensuality,  and  its  pride,  as  well  as  in  its 
fortitude  or  faith,  but  makes  it  noble  in  them  all ;  he  casts 
aside  the  veil  from  the  body,  and  beholds  the  mysteries  of  its 
form  like  an  angel  looking  down  on  an  inferior  creature: 
there  is  nothing  which  he  is  reluctant  to  behold,  nothing  that 
he  is  ashamed  to  confess  ;  with  all  that  lives,  triumphing, 
falling,  or  suffering,  he  claims  kindred,  either  in  majesty  or  in 
mercy,  yet  standing,  in  a  sort,  afar  off,  unmoved  even  in  the 
deepness  of  his  sympathy  ;  for  the  spirit  within  him  is  too 
thoughtful  to  be  grieved,  too  brave  to  be  appalled,  and  too 
pure  to  be  polluted. 

§  lix.  How  far  beneath  these  two  ranks  of  men  shall  we 
place,  in  the  scale  of  being,  those  whose  pleasure  is  only  in  sin 
or  in  suffering  ;  who  habitually  Contemplate  humanity  in  pov- 

*  Not  selfish  fear,  caused  by  want  of  trust  in  Godt  or  of  resolution  in 
the  soul. 


192  THE  STONES  GF  VENICE. 

erty  or  decrepitude,  fury  or  sensuality  ;  whose  works  arc? 
either  temptations  to  its  weakness,  or  triumphs  over  its  ruin, 
and  recognize  no  other  subjects  for  thought  or  admiration 
than  the  subtlety  of  the  robber,  the  rage  of  the  soldier,  or  the 
joy  of  the  Sybarite.  It  seems  strange,  when  thus  definitely 
stated,  that  such  a  school  should  exist.  Yet  consider  a  little 
what  gaps  and  blanks  would  disfigure  our  gallery  and  chamber 
wTalls,  in  places  that  we  have  long  approached  with  reverence, 
if  every  picture,  every  statue,  were  removed  from  them,  of 
which  the  subject  was  either  the  vice  or  the  misery  of  man- 
kind, portrayed  without  any  moral  purpose  :  consider  the  in- 
numerable groups  having  reference  merely  to  various  forms 
of  passion,  low  or  high  ;  drunken  revels  and  brawls  among 
peasants,  gambling  or  fighting  scenes  among  soldiers,  amours 
and  intrigues  among  every  class,  brutal  battle  pieces,  banditti 
subjects,  gluts  of  torture  and  death  in  famine,  wreck,  or 
slaughter,  for  the  sake  merely  of  the  excitement, — that  quick- 
ening and  suppling  of  the  dull  spirit  that  cannot  be  gained 
for  it  but  by  bathing  it  in  blood,  afterward  to  wither  back  into 
stained  and  stiffened  apathy  ;  and  then  that  whole  vast  false 
heaven  of  sensual  passion,  full  of  nymphs,  satyrs,  graces,  god- 
desses, and  I  know  not  what,  from  its  high  seventh  circle  in 
Correggio's  Antiope,  clown  to  the  Grecized  ballet-dancers  and 
smirking  Cupids  of  the  Parisian  upholsterer.  Sweep  away  all 
this,  remorselessly,  and  see  how  much  art  we  should  have 
left. 

§  lx.  And  yet  these  are  only  the  grossest  manifestations  of 
the  tendency  of  the  school.  There  are  subtler,  yet  not  less 
certain,  signs  of  it  in  the  works  of  men  who  stand  high  in  the 
world's  list  of  sacred  painters.  I  doubt  not  that  the  reader 
was  surprised  when  I  named  Murillo  among  the  men  of  this 
third  rank.  Yet,  go  into  the  Dulwich  Gallery,  and  meditate 
for  a  little  over  that  much  celebrated  picture  of  the  two  beg- 
gar boys,  one  eating  lying  on  the  ground,  the  other  standing 
beside  him.  We  have  among  our  own  painters  one  who  can- 
not indeed  be  set  beside  Murillo  as  a  painter  of  Madonnas,  for 
he  is  a  pure  Naturalist,  and,  never  having  seen  a  Madonna, 
does  not  paint  any  ;  but  who,  as  a  painter  of  beggar  or  peas* 


TEE  NATURE  OF  GOTHIC. 


193 


ant  boys,  may  be  set  beside  Murillo,  or  any  one  else, — W. 
Hunt.  He  loves  peasant  boys,  because  lie  finds  them  more 
roughly  and  picturesquely  dressed,  and  more  healthily  colored, 
than  others.  And  he  paints  all  that  he  sees  in  them  fear- 
lessly ;  all  the  health  and  humor,  and  freshness,  and  vitality, 
together  with  such  awkwardness  and  stupidity,  and  what  else 
of  negative  or  positive  harm  there  may  be  in  the  creature  ; 
but  yet  so  that  on  the  whole  we  love  it,  and  find  it  perhaps 
even  beautiful,  or  if  not,  at  least  we  see  that  there  is  capabil- 
ity of  good  in  it,  rather  than  of  evil  ;  and  all  is  lighted  up  by 
a  sunshine  and  sweet  color  that  makes  the  smock-frock  as 
precious  as  cloth  of  gold.  But  look  at  those  two  ragged  and 
vicious  vagrants  that  Murillo  has  gathered  out  of  the  street. 
You  smile  at  first,  because  they  are  eating  so  naturally,  and 
their  roguery  is  so  complete.  But  is  there  anything  else 
than  roguery  there,  or  was  it  well  for  the  painter  to  give  his 
time  to  the  painting  of  those  repulsive  and  wicked  children  ? 
Do  you  feel  moved  with  any  charity  towards  children  as  you 
look  at  them  ?  Are  we  the  least  more  likely  to  take  any  in- 
terest in  ragged  schools,  or  to  help  the  next  pauper  child  that 
conies  in  our  way,  because  the  painter  has  shown  us  a  cunning- 
beggar  feeding  greedily  ?  Mark  the  choice  of  the  act.  He 
might  have  shown  hunger  in  other  ways,  and  given  interest 
to  even  this  act  of  eating,  by  making  the  face  wasted,  or  the 
eye  wistful.  But  he  did  not  care  to  do  this.  He  delighted 
merely  in  the  disgusting  manner  of  eating,  the  food  filling 
the  cheek  ;  the  boy  is  not  hungry,  else  he  would  not  turn 
round  to  talk  and  grin  as  he  eats. 

§  lxi.  But  observe  another  point  in  the  lower  figure.  It 
lies  so  that  the  sole  of  the  foot  is  turned  towards  the  spectator ; 
not  because  it  would  have  lain  less  easily  in  another  attitude, 
but  that  the  painter  may  draw,  and  exhibit,  the  grey  dust  em 
grained  in  the  foot.  Do  not  call  this  the  painting  of  nature  * 
it  is  mere  delight  in  foulness.  The  lesson,  if  there  be  any,  in 
the  picture,  is  not  one  whit  the  stronger.  We  all  know  that  a 
beggar's  bare  foot  cannot  be  clean  ;  there  is  no  need  to  thrust- 
its  degradation  into  the  light,  as  if  no  human  imagination  were 
vigorous  enough  for  its  conception. 

Vol.  II. — 13  ^ 


194 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


§  lxii.  The  position  of  the  Sensualists,  in  treatment  of  land?, 
scape,  is  less  distinctly  marked  than  in  that  of  the  figure  :  be- 
cause even  the  wildest  passions  of  nature  are  noble  :  but  the 
inclination  is  manifested  by  carelessness  in  marking*  generic 
form  in  trees  and  flowers  :  by  their  preferring  confused  and 
irregular  arrangements  of  foliage  or  foreground  to  sym metri- 
cal and  simple  grouping  ;  by  their  general  choice  of  such  pict- 
uresqueness  as  results  from  decay,  disorder,  and  disease,  rather 
than  of  that  which  is  consistent  with  the  perfection  of  the 
things  in  which  it  is  found  ;  and  by  their  imperfect  rendering 
of  the  elements  of  strength  and  beauty  in  all  things.  I  pro- 
pose to  work  out  this  subject  fully  in  the  last  volume  of  "  Mod- 
ern Painters  ; "  but  I  trust  that  enough  has  been  here  said  to 
enable  the  reader  to  understand  the  relations  of  the  three 
great  classes  of  artists,  and  therefore  also  the  kinds  of  morbid 
condition  into  which  the  two  higher  (for  the  last  has  no  other 
than  a  morbid  condition)  are  liable  to  fail.  For,  since  the 
function  of  the  Naturalists  is  to  represent,  as  far  as  may  be, 
the  whole  of  nature,  and  the  Purists  to  represent  what  is  abso- 
lutely good  for  some  special  purpose  or  time,  it  is  evident  that 
both  are  liable  to  error  from  shortness  of  sight,  and  the  last 
also  from  weakness  of  judgment.  I  say,  in  the  first  place,  both 
may  err  from  shortness  of  sight,  from  not  seeing  all  that  there 
is  in  nature  ;  seeing  only  the  outsides  of  things,  or  those  points 
of  them  which  bear  least  on  the  matter  in  hand.  For  instance, 
a  modern  continental  Naturalist  sees  the  anatomy  of  a  limb 
thoroughly,  but  does  not  see  its  color  against  the  sky,  which 
latter  fact  is  to  a  painter  far  the  more  important  of  the  two. 
And  because  it  is  always  easier  to  see  the  surface  than  the 
depth  of  things,  the  full  sight  of  them  requiring  the  highest 
powers  of  penetration,  sympathy,  and  imagination,  the  work] 
is  full  of  vulgar  Naturalists  :  not  Sensualists,  observe,  not 
men  who  delight  in  evil ;  but  men  who  never  see  the  deepest 
good,  and  who  bring  discredit  on  all  painting  of  Nature  by 
the  little  that  they  discover  in  her.  And  the  Purist,  besides 
being  liable  to  this  same  shortsightedness,  is  liable  also  to 
fatal  errors  of  judgment ;  for  he  may  think  that  good  which 
is  not  so,  and  that  the  highest  good  which  is  the  least  And 


THE  NATURE  OF  GOTHIC. 


195 


thus  the  world  is  full  of  vulgar  Purists,*  who  bring  discredit 
on  all  selection  by  the  silliness  of  their  choice  ;  and  this  the 
more,  because  the  very  becoming  a  Purist  is  commonly  indi- 
cative of  some  slight  degree  of  weakness,  readiness  to  be  of- 
fended, or  narrowness  of  understanding  of  the  ends  of  things  : 
the  greatest  men  being,  in  all  times  of  art,  Naturalists,  without 
any  exception  ;  and  the  greatest  Purists  being  those  who  ap- 
proach nearest  to  the  Naturalists,  as  Benozzo  Gozzoli  and 
Perugino.  Hence  there  is  a  tendency  in  the  Naturalists  to 
despise  the  Purists,  and  in  the  Purists  to  be  offended  with  the 
Naturalists  (not  understanding  them,  and  confounding  them 
with  the  Sensualists)  ;  and  this  is  grievously  harmful  to  both. 

§  lxiii.  Of  the  various  forms  of  resultant  mischief  it  is  not 
here  the  place  to  speak :  the  reader  may  already  be  somewhat 
wearied  with  a  statement  which  has  led  us  apparently  so  far 
from  our  immediate  subject.  But  the  digression  was  neces- 
sary, in  order  that  I  might  clearly  define  the  sense  in  which  I 
use  the  word  Naturalism  when  I  state  it  to  be  the  third  most 
essential  characteristic  of  Gothic  architecture.  I  mean  that 
the  Gothic  builders  belong  to  the  central  or  greatest  rank  in 
both  the  classifications  of  artists  which  we  have  just  made  ; 

*  I  reserve  for  another  place  the  full  discussion  of  this  interesting  sub- 
ject, which  here  would  have  led  me  too  far ;  but  it  must  be  noted,  in 
passing,  that  this  vulgar  Purism,  which  rejects  truth,  not  because  it  is 
vicious,  but  because  it  is  humble,  and  consists  not  in  choosing  what  is 
good,  but  in  disguising  what  is  rough,  extends  itself  into  every  species 
or  art.  The  most  definite  instance  of  it  is  the  dressing  of  characters  of 
peasantry  in  an  opera  or  ballet  scene  ;  and  the  walls  of  our  exhibitions 
are  full  of  works  of  art  which  "  exalt  nature  "  in  the  same  way,  not  by 
revealing  what  is  great  in  the  heart,  but  by  smoothing  what  is  coarse  in 
the  complexion.  There  is  nothing,  I  believe,  so  vulgar,  so  hopeless,  sc 
indicative  of  an  irretrievably  base  mind,  as  this  species  of  Purism.  Of 
healthy  Purism  carried  to  the  utmost  endurable  length  in  this  direction, 
exalting  the  heart  first,  and  the  features  with  it,  perhaps  the  most 
characteristic  instance  I  can  give  is  Stothard's  vignette  to  "  Jorasse,v  in 
Bogers's  Italy  ;  at  least  it  would  be  so  if  it  could  be  seen  beside  a  real 
group  of  Swiss  girls  The  poems  of  Rogers,  compared  with  those  of 
Crabbe,  are  admirable  instances  of  the  healthiest  Purism  and  healthiest 
Naturalism  in  poetry.  The  first  great  Naturalists  of  Christian  art  were 
Orcagna  and  Giotto. 


196 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


that,  considering  all  artists  as  either  men  of  design,  men  oi 
facts,  or  men  of  both,  the  Gothic  builders  were  men  of  both  ; 
and  that  again,  considering  all  artists  as  either  Purists,  Natu- 
ralists, or  Sensualists,  the  Gothic  builders  were  Naturalists. 

§  lxiv.  I  say  first,  that  the  Gothic  builders  were  of  that 
central  class  which  unites  fact  with  design ;  but  that  the  part 
of  the  work  which  was  more  especially  their  own  was  the 
truthfulness.  Their  power  of  artistieal  invention  or  arrange- 
ment was  not  greater  than  that  of  liomanesque  and  Byzantine 
workmen  :  by  those  workmen  they  were  taught  the  principles, 
and  from  them  received  their  models,  of  design  ;  but  to  the 
ornamental  feeling  and  rich  fancy  of  the  Byzantine  the  Gothic 
builder  added  a  love  of  fact  which  is  never  found  in  the  South. 
Both  Greek  and  Roman  used  conventional  foliage  in  their  or- 
nament, passing  into  something  that  was  not  foliage  at  all, 
knotting  itself  into  strange  cup-like  buds  or  clusters,  and 
growing  out  of  lifeless  rods  instead  of  stems  ;  the  Gothic 
sculptor  received  these  t3rpes,  at  first,  as  things  that  ought  to 
be,  just  as  Ave  have  a  second  time  received  them  ;  but  he 
could  not  rest  in  them.  He  saw  there  was  no  veracity  in 
them,  no  knowledge,  no  vitality.  Do  what  he  would,  he  could 
not  help  liking  the  true  leaves  better  ;  and  cautiously,  a  little 
at  a  time,  he  put  more  of  nature  into  his  work,  until  at  last  it 
was  all  true,  retaining,  nevertheless,  every  valuable  character 
of  the  original  well-disciplined  and  designed  arrangement.* 

§  lxv.  Nor  is  it  only  in  external  and  visible  subject  that 
the  Gothic  workman  wrought  for  truth  :  he  is  as  firm  in  his 
rendering  of  imaginative  as  of  actual  truth  ;  that  is  to  say, 
when  an  idea  would  have  been  by  a  Roman,  or  Byzantine, 
symbolically  represented,  the  Gothic  mind  realizes  it  to  the 
utmost.  For  instance,  the  purgatorial  fire  is  represented  in 
the  mosaic  of  Torcello  (Romanesque)  as  a  red  stream,  longitu- 
dinally striped  like  a  riband,  descending  out  of  the  throne  of 
Christ,  and  gradually  extending  itself  to  envelope  the  wicked. 
When  we  are  once  informed  what  this  means,  it  is  enough  for 

*  The  reader  w  ill  understand  this  in  a  moment  by  glancing  at  Plate 
XX.,  the  last  in  this  volume,  where  the  series  1  to  12  represents  tha 
change  in  one  kind  of  leaf,  from  the  Byzantine  to  the  perfect  Gothic. 


THE  NATURE  OF  GOTHIC. 


107 


its  purpose  ;  but  the  Gothic  inventor  does  not  leave  the  sign 
in  need  of  interpretation.  He  makes  the  fire  as  like  real  fire 
as  he  can  ;  and  in  the  porch  of  St.  Maclou  at  Rouen  the  sculpt- 
ured flames  burst  out  of  the  Hades  gate,  and  flicker  up,  in 
writhing  tongues  of  stone,  through  the  interstices  of  the 
niches,  as  if  the  church  itself  were  on  fire.  This  is  an  extreme 
instance,  but  it  is  all  the  more  illustrative  of  the  entire  difference 
in  temper  and  thought  between  the  two  schools  of  art,  and  of 
the  intense  love  of  veracity  which  influenced  the  Gothic 
design. 

§  lxvi.  I  do  not  say  that  this  love  of  veracity  is  always 
healthy  in  its  operation.  I  have  above  noticed  the  errors  into 
which  it  falls  from  despising  design  ;  and  there  is  another  kind 
of  error  noticeable  in  the  instance  just  given,  in  which  the  love 
of  truth  is  too  hasty,  and  seizes  on  a  surface  truth  instead  of 
an  inner  one.  For  in  representing  the  Hades  fire,  it  is  not  the 
mere  form  of  the  flame  which  needs  most  to  be  told,  but  its 
unquenchableness,  its  Divine  ordainment  and  limitation,  and 
its  inner  fierceness,  not  physical  and  material,  but  in  being  the 
expression  of  the  wrath  of  God.  And  these  things  are  not  to 
be  told  by  imitating  the  fire  that  flashes  out  of  a  bundle  of 
sticks.  If  we  think  over  his  symbol  a  little,  we  shall  perhaps 
find  that  the  Romanesque  builder  told  more  truth  in  that  like- 
ness of  a  blood-red  stream,  flowing  between  definite  shores  and 
out  of  God's  throne,  and  expanding,  as  if  fed  by  a  perpetual 
current,  into  the  lake  wherein  the  wicked  are  cast,  than  the 
Gothic  builder  in  those  torch-flickerings  about  his  niches.  But 
this  is  not  to  our  immediate  purpose  ;  I  am  not  at  present  to' 
insist  upon  the  faults  into  which  the  love  of  truth  was  led  in 
the  later  Gothic  times,  but  on  the  feeling  itself,  as  a  glorious 
and  peculiar  characteristic  of  the  Northern  builders.  For,  ob- 
serve, it  is  not,  even  in  the  above  instance,  love  of  truth,  but 
want  of  thought,  which  causes  the  fa  alt.  The  love  of  truth, 
as  such,  is  good,  but  when  it  is  misdirected  by  thoughtlessness 
or  over-excited  by  vanity,  and  either  seizes  on  facts  of  small 
value,  or  gathers  them  chiefly  that  it  may  boast  of  its  grasp 
and  apprehension,  its  work  may  well  become  dull  or  offensive, 
Yet  let  us  not,  therefore,  blame  the  inherent  love  of  facts,  bul? 


198 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


the  ineautiousuess  of  their  selection,  and  impertinence  of  theiz 
statement. 

§  lxyii.  I  said,  in  the  second  place,  that  Gothic  work,  when 
referred  to  the  arrangement  of  all  art,  as  purist,  naturalist,  or 
sensualist,  was  naturalist.  This  character  follows  necessarily 
on  its  extreme  love  of  truth,  prevailing  over  the  sense  of  beauty, 
and  causing  it  to  take  delight  in  portraiture  of  every  kind,  and 
to  express  the  various  characters  of  the  human  countenance 
and  form,  as  it  did  the  varieties  of  leaves  and  the  ruggedness 
of  branches.  And  this  tendency  is  both  increased  and  enno- 
bled by  the  same  Christian  humility  which  we  saw  expressed 
in  the  first  character  of  Gothic  work,  its  rudeness.  For  as  that 
resulted  from  a  humility  which  confessed  the  imperfection  of 
the  workman,  so  this  naturalist  portraiture  is  rendered  more 
faithful  by  the  humility  which  confesses  the  imperfection  of 
the  subject.  The  Greek  sculptor  could  neither  bear  to  confess 
his  own  feebleness,  nor  to  tell  the  faults  of  the  forms  that  he 
portrayed.  But  the  Christian  workman,  believing  that  all  is 
finally  to  work  together  for  good,  freely  confesses  both,  and 
neither  seeks  to  disguise  his  own  roughness  of  work,  nor  his 
subject's  roughness  of  make.  Yet  this  frankness  being  joined, 
for  the  most  part,  with  depth  of  religious  feeling  in  other  di- 
rections, and  especially  with  charity,  there  is  sometimes  a  ten- 
dency to  Purism  in  the  best  Gothic  sculpture  ;  so  that  it  fre- 
quently reaches  great  dignity  of  form  and  tenderness  of 
expression,  yet  never  so  as  to  lose  the  veracity  of  portraiture, 
wherever  portraiture  is  possible  :  not  exalting  its  kings  into 
demi-gods,  nor  its  saints  into  archangels,  but  giving  what  king- 
iiness  and  sanctity  was  in  them,  to  the  full,  mixed  with  due 
record  of  their  faults  ;  and  this  in  the  most  part  with  a  great 
indifference  like  that  of  Scripture  history,  which  sets  down, 
with  unmoved  and  unexcusing  resoluteness,  the  virtues  and 
errors  of  all  men  of  whom  it  speaks,  often  leaving  the  reader 
to  form  his  own  estimate  of  them,  without  an  indication  of  the 
judgment  of  the  historian.  And  this  veracity  is  carried  out  by 
the  Gothic  sculptors  in  the  minuteness  and  generality,  as  well 
as  the  equity,  of  their  delineation  :  for  they  do  not  limit  their 
art  to  the  portraiture  of  saints  and  kings,  but  introduce  the 


THE  NATURE  OF  GOTHIC. 


199 


raost  familiar  scenes  and  most  simple  subjects  ;  filling  up  the 
backgrounds  of  Scripture  histories  with  vivid  and  curious  rep- 
X'esentations  of  the  commonest  incidents  of  daily  life,  and  avail- 
ing themselves  of  every  occasion  in  which,  either  as  a  symbol, 
or  an  explanation  of  a  scene  or  time,  the  things  familiar  to  the 
eye  of  the  workman  could  be  introduced  and  made  of  account. 
Hence  Gothic  sculpture  and  painting  are  not  only  full  of  valu- 
able portraiture  of  the  greatest  men,  but  copious  records  of  all 
the  domestic  customs  and  inferior  arts  of  the  ages  in  which  it 
flourished.* 

§  lxviii.  There  is,  however,  one  direction  in  which  the 
Naturalism  of  the  Gothic  workmen  is  peculiarly  manifested  ; 
and  this  direction  is  even  more  characteristic  of  the  school 
than  the  Naturalism  itself  ;  I  mean  their  peculiar  fondness 
for  the  forms  of  Vegetation.  In  rendering  the  various  circum- 
stances of  daily  life,  Egyptian  and  Ninevite  sculpture  is  as 
frank  and  as  diffuse  as  the  Gothic.  From  the  highest  pomps 
of  state  or  triumphs  of  battle,  to  the  most  trivial  domestic 
arts  and  amusements,  all  is  taken  advantage  of  to  fill  the 
field  of  granite  with  the  perpetual  interest  of  a  crowded 
drama  ;  and  the  early  Lombardic  and  Romanesque  sculpture 
is  equally  copious  in  its  description  of  the  familiar  circum- 
stances of  war  and  the  chase.  But  in  all  the. scenes  portrayed 
by  the  workmen  of  these  nations,  vegetation  occurs  only  as 
an  explanatory  accessory  ;  the  reed  is  introduced  to  mark  the 
course  of  the  river,  or  the  tree  to  mark  the  covert  of  the  wild 
beast,  or  the  ambush  of  the  enemy,  but  there  is  no  especial 
interest  in  the  forms  of  the  vegetation  strong  enough  to  in- 
duce them  to  make  it  a  subject  of  separate  and  accurate 
study.  Again,  among  the  nations  who  followed  the  arts  of 
design  exclusively,  the  forms  of  foliage  introduced  were 

*  The  best  art  either  represents  the  facts  of  its  own  day,  or,  if  facts  of 
the  past,  expresses  them  with  accessories  of  the  time  in  which  the  work 
was  done.  All  good  art,  representing  past  events,  is  therefore  full  of  the 
most  frank  anachronism,  and  always  ought  to  be  No  painter  has  any 
business  to  be  an  antiquarian.  We  d6  not  want  his  impressions  or  sup- 
positions respecting  things  that  are  past.  We  want  his  clear  assertions 
respecting  things  present. 


200 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


meagre  and  general,  and  their  real  intricacy  and  life  wers 
neither  admired  nor  expressed.  But  to  the  Gothic  workman 
the  living  foliage  became  a  subject  of  intense  affection,  and 
he  struggled  to  render  all  its  characters  with  as  much  accu- 
racy as  was  compatible  with  the  laws  of  his  design  and  the 
nature  of  his  material,  not  unfrequently  tempted  in  his  en- 
thusiasm to  transgress  the  one  and  disguise  the  other. 

§  lxix.  There  is  a  peculiar  significancy  in  this,  indicative 
both  of  higher  civilization  and  gentler  temperament,  than 
had  before  been  manifested  in  architecture.  Rudeness,  and 
the  love  of  change,  which  we  have  insisted  upon  as  the  first 
elements  of  Gothic,  are  also  elements  common  to  all  healthy 
schools.  But  here  is  a  softer  element  mingled  with  them, 
peculiar  to  the  Gothic  itself.  The  rudeness  or  ignorance 
which  would  have  been  painfully  exposed  in  the  treatment  oi 
the  human  form,  are  still  not  so  great  as  to  prevent  the  suc- 
cessful rendering  of  the  wayside  herbage  ;  and  the  love  of 
change,  which  becomes  morbid  and  feverish  in  following  the 
haste  of  the  hunter,  and  the  rage  of  the  combatant,  is  at  once 
soothed  and  satisfied  as  it  watches  the  wandering  of  the  ten- 
dril, and  the  budding  of  the  flower.  Nor  is  this  all :  the  new 
direction  of  mental  interest  marks  an  infinite  change  in  the 
means  and  the  habits  of  life.  The  nations  whose  chief  sup- 
port was  in  the  chase,  whose  chief  interest  was  in  the  battle, 
whose  chief  pleasure  was  in  the  banquet,  would  take  small 
care  respecting  the  shapes  of  leaves  and  flowers  ;  and  notice 
little  in  the  forms  of  the  forest  trees  which  sheltered  them, 
except  the  signs  indicative  of  the  wood  which  would  make 
the  toughest  lance,  the  closest  roof,  or  the  clearest  fire.  The 
affectionate  observation  of  the  grace  and  outward  character 
of  vegetation  is  the  sure  sign  of  a  more  tranquil  and  gentle 
existence,  sustained  by  the  gifts,  and  gladdened  by  the  splen- 
dor, of  the  earth.  In  that  careful  distinction  of  species,  and 
richness  of  delicate  and  undisturbed  organization,  which 
characterize  the  Gothic  design,  there  is  the  history  of  rural 
and  thoughtful  life,  influenced  by  habitual  tenderness,  and 
devoted  to  subtle  inquiry  ;  and  every  discriminating  and  deli- 
cate touch  of  the  chisel,  as  it  rounds  the  petal  or  guides  the 


THE  NATURE  OF  GOTHIC. 


branch,  is  a  prophecy  of  the  developement  of  the  entire  body 
of  the  natural  sciences,  beginning  with  that  of  medicine,  of 
the  recovery  of  literature,  and  the  establishment  of  the  most 
necessary  principles  of  domestic  wisdom  and  national  peace. 

§  lxx.  I  have  before  alluded  to  the  strange  and  vain  sup- 
position, that  the  original  conception  of  Gothic  architecture 
had  been  derived  from  vegetation, — from  the  S3^mmetry  of 
avenues,  and  the  interlacing  of  branches.  It  is  a  supposition 
which  never  could  have  existed  for  a  moment  in  the  mind  of 
any  person  acquainted  with  early  Gothic  ;  but,  however  idle- 
as  a  theory,  it  is  most  valuable  as  a  testimony  to  the  charac- 
ter of  the  perfected  style.  It  is  precisely  because  the  reverse 
of  this  theory  is  the  fact,  because  the  Gothic  did  not  arise  out 
of,  but  develope  itself  into,  a  resemblance  to  vegetation,  that 
this  resemblance  is  so  instructive  as  an  indication  of  the 
temper  of  the  builders.  It  was  no  chance  suggestion  of  the 
form  of  an  arch  from  the  bending  of  a  bough,  but  a  gradual 
and  continual  discovery  of  a  beauty  in  natural  forms  which 
could  be  more  and  more  perfectly  transferred  into  those  of 
stone,  that  influenced  at  once  the  heart  of  the  people,  and  the 
form  of  the  edifice.  The  Gothic  architecture  arose  in  massy 
and  mountainous  strength,  axe-hewn,  and  iron-bound,  block 
heaved  upon  block  by  the  monk's  enthusiasm  and  the  soldier's 
force  ;  and  cramped  and  stanchioned  into  such  weight  of 
grisly  wall,  as  might  bury  the  anchoret  in  darkness,  and  beat 
back  the  utmost  storm  of  battle,  suffering  but  by  the  same 
narrow  crosslet  the  passing  of  the  sunbeam,  or  of  the  arrow. 
Gradually,  as  that  monkish  enthusiasm  became  more  thought- 
ful, and  as  the  sound  of  war  became  more  and  more  intermit- 
tent beyond  the  gates  of  the  convent  or  the  keep,  the  stony 
pillar  grew  slender  and  the  vaulted  roof  grew  light,  till  they 
had  wreathed  themselves  into  the  semblance  of  the  summer 
woods  at  their  fairest,  and  of  the  dead  field-flowers,  long  trod- 
den down  in  blood,  sweet  monumental  statues  were  set  to 
bloom  for  ever,  beneath  the  porch  of  the  temple,  or  the  canopy 
of  the  tomb. 

§  lxxi.  Nor  is  it  only  as  a  sign  of  greater  gentleness  or  re- 
finement of  mind,  but  as  a  proof  of  the  best  possible  direction 


202 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


of  this  refinement,  that  the  tendency  of  the  Gothic  to  the  ex* 
pression  of  vegetative  life  is  to  be  admired.  That  sentence  of 
Genesis,  "  I  have  given  thee  every  green  herb  for  meat,"  like 
all  the  rest  of  the  book,  has  a  profound  symbolical  as  well  as 
a  literal  meaning.  It  is  not  merely  the  nourishment  of  the 
body,  but  the  food  of  the  soul,  that  is  intended.  The  green  herb 
is,  of  all  nature,  that  which  is  most  essential  to  the  healthy 
spiritual  life  of  man.  Most  of  us  do  not  need  fine  scenery  ; 
tho  precipice  and  the  mountain  peak  are  not  intended  to  be 
seen  by  all  men, — perhaps  their  power  is  greatest  over  those 
who  are  unaccustomed  to  them.  But  trees,  and  fields,  and 
flowers  were  made  for  all,  and  are  necessary  for  ail.  God  has 
connected  the  labor  which  is  essential  to  the  bodily  sus- 
tenance, with  the  pleasures  which  are  healthiest  for  the  heart ; 
and  while  He  made  the  ground  stubborn,  He  made  its  herb- 
age fragrant,  and  its  blossoms  fair.  The  proudest  architecture 
that  man  can  build  has  no  higher  honor  than  to  bear  the 
image  and  recall  the  memory  of  that  grass  of  the  field  which 
is,  at  once,  the  type  and  the  support  of  his  existence  ;  the 
goodly  building  is  then  most  glorious  when  it  is  sculptured 
into  the  likeness  of  the  leaves  of  Paradise  ;  and  the  great 
Gothic  spirit,  as  we  showed  it  to  be  noble  in  its  disquietude, 
is  also  noble  in  its  hold  of  nature  ;  it  is,  indeed,  like  the  dove 
of  Noah,  in  that  she  found  no  rest  upon  the  face  of  the- 
waters, — but  like  her  in  this  also,  "  Lo,  in  her  mouth  was  an 

OLIVE  BRANCH,  PLUCKED  OFF." 

§  lxxii.  The  fourth  essential  element  of  the  Gothic  mind 
was  above  stated  to  be  the  sense  of  the  Grotesque  ;  but  I 
shall  defer  the  endeavor  to  define  this  most  curious  and  subtle 
character  until  wre  have  occasion  to  examine  one  of  the  divis- 
ions of  the  Renaissance  schools,  which  was  morbidly  influ- 
enced by  it  (Vol.  III.  Chap.  III.).  It  is  the  less  necessary  to 
insist  upon  it  here,  because  every  reader  familiar  with  Gothic 
architecture  must  understand  what  I  mean,  and  will;  I  be- 
lieve, have  no  hesitation  in  admitting  that  the  tendency  to 
delight  in  fantastic  and  ludicrous,  as  well  as  in  sublime, 
images,  is  a  universal  instinct  of  the  Gothic  imagination. 

§  lxxiii.  The  fifth  element  above  named  was  Rigidity  ;  and 


THE  NATURE  OF  GOTHIC. 


203 


this  character  1  must  endeavor  carefully  to  define,  for  neither 
the  word  I  have  used,  nor  any  other  that  I  can  think  of,  will 
express  it  accurately.  For  I  mean,  not  merely  stable,  but 
active  rigidity  ;  the  peculiar  energy  which  gives  tension  to 
movement,  and  stiffness  to  resistance,  which  makes  the  fiercest 
lightning  forked  rather  than  curved,  and  the  stoutest  oak- 
branch  angular  rather  than  bending,  and  is  as  much  seen  in 
the  quivering  of  the  lance  as  in  the  glittering  of  the  icicle. 

§  lxxiv.  I  have  before  had  occasion  (Vol.  I.  Chap.  XIII. 
§  vn.)  to  note  some  manifestations  of  this  energy  or  fixedness  ; 
but  it  must  be  still  more  attentively  considered  here,  as  it 
shows  itself  throughout  the  whole  structure  and  decoration  of 
Gothic  work.  Egyptian  and  Greek  buildings  stand,  for  the 
most  part,  by  their  own  weight  and  mass,  one  stone  passively 
incumbent  on  another  :  but  in  the  Gothic  vaults  and  traceries 
there  is  a  stiffness  analogous  to  that  of  the  bones  of  a  limb,  or 
fibres  of  a  tree  ;  an  elastic  tension  and  communication  of  force 
from  part  to  part,  and  also  a  studious  expression  of  this 
throughout  every  visible  line  of  the  building.  And,  in  like 
manner,  the  Greek  and  Egyptian  ornament  is  either  mere 
surface  engraving,  as  if  the  face  of  the  wall  had  been  stamped 
with  a  seal,  or  its  lines  are  flowing,  lithe,  and  luxuriant  ;  in 
either  case,  there  is  no  expression  of  energy  in  framework  of 
the  ornament  itself.  But  the  Gothic  ornament  stands  out 
in  prickly  independence,  and  frosty  fortitude,  jutting  into 
crockets,  and.  freezing  into  pinnacles  ;  here  starting  up  into  a 
monster,  there  germinating  into  a  blossom  ;  anon  knitting 
itself  into  a  branch,  alternately  thorny,  bossy,  and  bristly,  or 
writhed  into  every  form  of  nervous  entanglement ;  but,  even 
when  most  graceful,  never  for  an  instant  languid,  always 
quickset ;  erring,  if  at  all,  ever  on  the  side  of  brusquerie. 

§  lxxv.  The  feelings  or  habits  in  the  workman  which  give 
rise  to  this  character  in  the  work,  are  more  complicated  and 
various  than  those  indicated  by  any  other  sculptural  expres- 
sion hitherto  named.  There  is,  first,  the  habit  of  hard  and 
rapid  working  ;  the  industry L  of  the  tribes  of  the  North, 
quickened  by  the  coldness  of  the  climate,  and  giving  an  ex- 
pression of  sharp  energy  to  all  they  do  (as  above  noted,  Vol.  L 


204 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


Chap.  Xm.  §  vii.),  as  opposed  to  the  languor  of  the  Southern 
tribes,  however  much  of  lire  there  may  be  in  the  heart  of  that 
languor,  for  lava  itself  may  flow  languidly.  There  is  also  the 
habit  of  finding  enjoyment  in  the  signs  of  cold,  which  is  never 
found,  I  believe,  in  the  inhabitants  of  countries  south  of  the 
Alps.  Cold  is  to  them  an  unredeemed  evil,  to  be  suffered,  and 
forgotten  as  soon  as  may  be  ;  but  the  long  winter  of  the  North 
forces  the  Goth  (I  mean  the  Englishman,  Frenchman,  Dane, 
or  German),  if  he  would  lead  a  happy  life  at  all,  to  find  sources 
of  happiness  in  foul  weather  as  well  as  fair,  and  to  rejoice  in 
the  leafless  as  well  as  in  the  shady  forest.  And  this  we  do 
with  all  our  hearts  ;  finding  perhaps  nearly  as  much  content- 
ment by  the  Christmas  fire  as  in  the  summer  sunshine,  and 
gaining  health  and  strength  on  the  ice-fields  of  winter,  as  well 
as  among  the  meadows  of  spring.  So  that  there  is  nothing 
adverse  or  painful  to  our  feelings  in  the  cramped  and  stiffened 
structure  of  vegetation  checked  by  cold  ;  and  instead  of  seek- 
ing, like  the  Southern  sculptor,  to  express  only  the  softness 
of  leafage  nourished  in  all  tenderness,  and  tempted  into  all 
luxuriance  by  warm  winds  and  glowing  rays,  we  find  pleasure 
in  dwelling  upon  the  crabbed,  perverse,  and  morose  animation 
of  plants  that  have  known  little  kindness  from  earth  or  heaven, 
but,  season  after  season,  have  had  their  best  efforts  palsied  by 
frost,  their  brightest  buds  buried  under  snow,  and  their  good- 
liest limbs  lopped  by  tempest. 

§  lxxvi.  There  are  many  subtle  sympathies  and  affections 
which  join  to  confirm  the  Gothic  mind  in  this  peculiar  choice 
of  subject ;  and  when  we  add  to  the  influence  of  these,  the 
necessities  consequent  upon  the  employment  of  a  rougher 
material,  compelling  the  workman  to  seek  for  vigor  of  effect, 
rather  than  refinement  of  texture  or  accuracy  of  form,  we 
have  direct  and  manifest  causes  for  much  of  the  difference 
between  the  northern  and  southern  cast  of  conception  :  but 
there  are  indirect  causes  holding  a  far  more  important  place 
in  the  Gothic  heart,  though  less  immediate  in  their  influence 
on  design.  Strength  of  will,  independence  of  character,  reso* 
luteness  of  purpose,  impatience  of  undue  control,  and  that 
general  tendency  to  set  the  individual  reason  against  authority, 


THE  NATURE  OF  GOTHIC. 


205 


and  the  individual  deed  against  destiny,  which,  in  the  Northern 
tribes,  has  opposed  itself  throughout  all  ages  to  the  languid 
submission,  in  the  Southern,  of  thought  to  tradition,  and 
purpose  to  fatality,  are  all  more  or  less  traceable  in  the  rigid 
lines,  vigorous  and  various  masses,  and  daringly  projecting 
and  independent  structure  of  the  Northern  Gothic  ornament : 
while  the  opposite  feelings  are  in  like  manner  legible  in  the 
graceful  and  softly  guided  waves  and  wreathed  bands,  in  which 
Southern  decoration  is  constantly  disposed  ;  in  its  tendency  to 
lose  its  independence,  and  fuse  itself  into  the  surface  of  the 
masses  upon  which  it  is  traced  ;  and  in  the  expression  seen  so 
often,  in  the  arrangement  of  those  masses  themselves,  of  an 
abandonment  of  their  strength  to  an  inevitable  necessity,  or  a 
listless  repose. 

§  lxxvii.  There  is  virtue  in  the  measure,  and  error  in  the 
excess,  of  both  these  characters  of  mind,  and  in  both  of  the 
styles  wdiich  they  have  created  ;  the  best  architecture,  and  the 
best  temper,  are  those  which  unite  them  both ;  and  this  fifth 
impulse  of  the  Gothic  heart  is  therefore  that  which  needs 
most  caution  in  its  indulgence.  It  is  more  definitely  Gothic 
than  any  other,  but  the  best  Gothic  building  is  not  that  which 
is  most  Gothic  :  it  can  hardly  be  too  frank  in  its  confession  of 
rudeness,  hardly  too  rich  in  its  changefulness,  hardly  too 
faithful  in  its  naturalism  ;  but  it  may  go  too  far  in  its  rigidity, 
and,  like  the  great  Puritan  spirit  in  its  extreme,  lose  itself 
either  in  frivolity  of  division,  or  perversity  of  purpose.*  It 
actually  did  so  in  its  later  times ;  but  it  is  gladdening  to 
remember  that  in  its  utmost  nobleness,  the  very  temper  which 
has  been  thought  most  adverse  to  it,  the  Protestant  spirit  of 
self-dependence  and  inquiry,  was  expressed  in  its  every  line. 
Faith  and  aspiration  there  were,  in  every  Christian  ecclesias- 
tical building,  from  the  first  century  to  the  fifteenth  ;  but  the 

*  See  the  account  of  the. meeting  at  Talla  Linns,  in  1682,  given  in  the 
foui'th  chapter  of  the  'Heart  of  Midlothian."  At  length  they  arrived 
at  the  conclusion  that  "they  who  owned  (or  allowed)  such  names  as 
Monday,  Tuesday,  January,  February,  and  so  forth,  served  themselves 
heirs  to  the  same  if  not  greater  punishment  than  had  been  denounced 
against  the  idolaters  of  old." 


200 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


moral  habits  to  which  England  in  this  age  owes  the  kind  oi 
greatness  that  she  has, — the  habits  of  philosophical  investiga- 
tion, of  accurate  thought,  of  domestic  seclusion  and  indepen- 
dence, of  stern  self-reliance,  and  sincere  upright  searching 
into  religious  truth, — were  only  traceable  in  the  features 
which  were  the  distinctive  creation  of  the  Gothic  schools,  in 
the  veined  foliage,  and  thorny  fret- work,  and  shadowy  niche, 
and  buttressed  pier,  and  fearless  height  of  subtle  pinnacle 
and  crested  tower,  sent  like  an  "  unperplexed  question  up  to 
Heaven."* 

§  lxxviii.  Last,  because  the  least  essential,  of  the  constitu- 
ent elements  of  this  noble  school,  was  placed  that  of  Redun- 
dance,— the  un calculating  bestowal  of  the  wealth  of  its  labor. 
There  is,  indeed,  much  Gothic,  and  that  of  the  best  period,  in 
which  this  element  is  hardly  traceable,  and  which  depends  for 
its  effect  almost  exclusively  on  loveliness  of  simple  design  and 
grace  of  uninvolved  proportion  :  still,  in  the  most  character- 
istic buildings,  a  certain  portion  of  their  effect  depends  upon 
accumulation  of  ornament  ;  and  many  of  those  which  have 
most  influence  on  the  minds  of  men,  have  attained  it  by  means 
of  this  attribute  alone.  And  although,  by  careful  study  of  the 
school,  it  is  possible  to  arrive  at  a  condition  of  taste  which 
shall  be  better  contented  b}r  a  few  perfect  lines  than  by  a 
whole  facade  covered  with  fretwork,  the  building  which  only 
satisfies  such  a  taste  is  not  to  be  considered  the  best.  For  the 
very  first  requirement  of  Gothic  architecture  being,  as  we  saw 
above,  that  it  shall  both  admit  the  aid,  and  appeal  to  the  ad- 
miration, of  the  rudest  as  well  as  the  most  refined  minds,  the 
richness  of  the  work  is,  paradoxical  as  the  statement  may  ap- 
pear, a  part  of  its  humility.  No  architecture  is  so  haughty  as 
that  which  is  simple  ;  which  refuses  to  address  the  eye,  except 
in  a  few  clear  and  forceful  lines  ;  which  implies,  in  offering  so 
little  to  our  regards,  that  all  it  has  offered  is  perfect  ;  and  dis- 
dains, either  by  the  complexity  or  the  attractiveness  of  its  feat- 

*  See  the  beautiful  description  of  Florence  in  Elizabeth  Browning's 
V  Casa  Guidi  Windows,"  which  is  not  only  a  nobie  poem,  but  the  only 
book  I  have  seen  which,  favoring  the  Liberal  cause  in  Italy,  gives  a  just 
account  of  the  incapacities  of  the  modern  Italian, 


THE  NATURE  OF  GOTHIC. 


207 


□res,  to  embarrass  our  investigation,  or  betray  us  into  delight. 
That  humility,  which  is  the  very  life  of  the  Gothic  school,  is 
shown  not  only  in  the  imperfection,  but  in  the  accumulation, 
of  ornament.  The  inferior  rank  of  the  workman  is  often 
shown  as  much  in  the  richness,  as  the  roughness,  of  his  work  ; 
and  if  the  co-operation  of  every  hand,  and  the  sympathy  of 
every  heart,  are  to  be  received,  we  must  be  content  to  allow 
the  redundance  which  disguises  the  failure  of  the  feeble,  and 
wins  the  regard  of  the  inattentive.  There  are,  however,  far 
nobler  interests  mingling,  in  the  Gothic  heart,  with  the  rude 
love  of  decorative  accumulation  :  a  magnificent  enthusiasm, 
which  feels  as  if  it  never  could  do  enough  to  reach  the  fulness 
of  its  ideal ;  an  unselfishness  of  sacrifice,  which  would  rather 
cast  fruitless  labor  before  the  altar  than  stand  idle  in  the 
market ;  and,  finally,  a  profound  sympathy  with  the  fulness 
and  wealth  of  the  material  universe,  rising  out  of  that  Natural- 
ism whose  operation  we  have  already  endeavored  to  define. 
The  sculptor  who  sought  for  his  models  among  the  forest 
leaves,  could  not  but  quickly  and  deeply  feel  that  complexity 
need  not  involve  the  loss  of  grace,  nor  richness  that  of  repose  ; 
and  every  hour  which  he  spent  in  the  study  of  the  minute  and 
various  work  of  Nature,  made  him  feel  more  forcibly  the  bar- 
renness of  what  was  best  in  that  of  man  :  nor  is  it  to  be  won- 
dered at,  that,  seeing  her  perfect  and  exquisite  creations 
poured  forth  in  a  profusion  which  conception  could  not  grasp 
nor  calculation  sum,  he  should  think  that  it  ill  became  him  to 
be  niggardly  of  his  own  rude  craftsmanship  ;  and  where  he 
saw  throughout  the  universe  a  faultless  beauty  lavished  on 
measureless  spaces  of  broidered  field  and  blooming  mountain, 
to  grudge  his  poor  and  imperfect  labor  to  the  few  stones  that 
he  had  raised  one  upon  another,  for  habitation  or  memorial. 
The  years  of  his  life  passed  away  before  his  task  was  ac- 
complished ;  but  generation  succeeded  generation  with  un- 
wearied enthusiasm,  and  the  cathedral  front  was  at  last  lost  in 
the  tapestry  of  its  traceries,  like  a  rock  among  the  thickets  and 
herbage  of  spring. 

§  lxxix.  We  have  now,  I  believe,  obtained  a  view  approach- 
ing to  completeness  of  the  various  moral  or  imaginative  ele- 


208 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


meats  which  composed  the  inner  spirit  of  Gothic  architecture, 
We  have,  in  the  second  place,  to  define  its  outward  form. 

Now,  as  the  Gothic  spirit  is  made  up  of  several  elements, 
some  of  which  may,  in  particular  examples,  be  wanting,  so 
the  Gothic  form  is  made  up  of  minor  conditions  of  form, 
some  of  which  may,  in  particular  examples,  be  imperfectly  de- 
veloped. 

We  cannot  say,  therefore,  that  a  building  is  either  Gothic 
or  not  Gothic  in  form,  any  more  than  we  can  in  spirit.  We 
can  only  say  that  it  is  more  or  less  Gothic,  in  proportion  to 
the  number  of  Gothic  forms  which  it  unites. 

§  lxxx.  There  have  been  made  lately  many  subtle  and  in- 
genious endeavors  to  base  the  definition  of  Gothic  form  en- 
tirely upon  the  roof-vaulting  ;  endeavors  which  are  both 
forced  and  futile  :  for  many  of  the  best  Gothic  buildings  in 
the  world  have  roofs  of  timber,  which  have  no  more  connection 
with  the  main  structure  of  the  walls  of  the  edifice  than  a  hat 
has  with  that  of  the  head  it  protects  ;  and  other  Gothic  build- 
ings are  merely  enclosures  of  spaces,  as  ramparts  and  walls, 
or  enclosures  of  gardens  or  cloisters,  and  have  no  roofs  at  all, 
in  the  sense  in  which  the  word  "roof"  is  commonly  accepted. 
But  every  reader  who  has  ever  taken  the  slightest  interest  in 
architecture  must  know  that  there  is  a  great  popular  impres- 
sion on  this  matter,  which  maintains  itself  stiffly  in  its  old 
form,  in  spite  of  all  ratiocination  and  definition  ;  namely,  that 
a  fiat  lintel  from  pillar  to  pillar  is  Grecian,  a  round  arch  Nor- 
man or  Eomanesque,  and  a  pointed  arch  Gothic. 

And  the  old  popular  notion,  as  far  as  it  goes,  is  perfectly 
right,  and  can  never  be  bettered.  The  most  striking  outward 
feature  in  all  Gothic  architecture  is,  that  it  is  composed  of 
pointed  arches,  as  in  Romanesque  that  it  is  in  like  manner 
composed  of  round  ;  and  this  distinction  would  be  quite  as 
clear,  though  the  roofs  were  taken  off  every  cathedral  in  Eu- 
rope. And  yet,  if  we  examine  carefully  into  the  real  force  and 
meaning  of  the  term  "roof"  we  shall  perhaps  be  able  to  re- 
tain the  old  popular  idea  in  a  definition  of  Gothic  architecture 
which  shall  also  express  whatever  dependence  that  architect* 
ure  has  upon  true  forms  of  roofing. 


THE  NATURE  OF  GOTHIC. 


209 


§  lxxxi.  In  Chap.  XIII.  of  the  first  volume,  the  reader 
will  remember  that  roofs  were  considered  as  generally  divided 
into  two  parts  ;  the  roof  proper,  that  is  to  say,  the  shell,  vault, 
or  ceiling,  internally  visible  ;  and  the  roof-mask,  which  pro- 
tects this  lower  roof  from  the  weather.  In  some  buildings 
these  parts  are  united  in  one  framework  ;  but,  in  most,  they 
are  more  or  less  independent  of  each  other,  and  in  nearly 
all  Gothic  buildings  there  is  considerable  interval  between 
them. 

Now  it  wTill  often  happen,  as  above  noticed,  that  owing  to 
the  nature  of  the  apartments  required,  or  the  materials  at 
hand,  the  roof  proper  may  be  flat,  coved,  or  domed,  in  build- 
ings which  in  their  walls  employ  pointed  arches,  and  are,  in 
the  straitest  sense  of  the  word,  Gothic  in  all  other  respects. 
Yet  so  far  forth  as  the  roofing  alone  is  concerned,  they  are 
not  Gothic  unless  the  pointed  arch  be  the  principal  form 
adopted  either  in  the  stone  vaulting  or  the  timbers  of  the 
roof  proper. 

I  shall  say  then,  in  the  first  place,  that  "  Gothic  architecture 
is  that  which  uses,  if  possible,  the  pointed  arch  in  the  roof 
proper."    This  is  the  first  step  in  our  definition. 

§  lxxxii.  Secondly.  Although  there  may  be  many  advis- 
able or  necessary  forms  for  v,lic  lower  rcof  or  ceiling,  there  is, 
in  cold  countries  exposed  to  rain  and  snow,  only  one  advisable 
form  for  the  roof-mask,  and  that  is  the  gable,  for  this  alone 
will  throw  off  both  rain  and  snow  from  all  parts  of  its  surface 
as  speedily  as  possible.  Snow  can  lodge  on  the  top  of  a  dome, 
not  on  the  ridge  .  :  g&bl&  And  thus,  as  far  as  roofing  is  con- 
cerned, the  gable  is  a  far  moro  essential  feature  of  Northern 
architecture  than  the  pointed  vault,  for  the  one  is  a  thorough 
necessity,  the  other  often  a  graceful  conventionality  :  the  gable 
occurs  in  the  timber  roof  of  every  dwelling-house  and  every 
cottage,  but  not  the  vault ;  and  the  gable  built  on  a  polygonal 
or  circular  plan,  is  the  origin  of  the  turret  and  spire  ;  *  and  all 
the  so-called  aspiration  of  Gothic  architecture  is,  as  above 
noticed  (Vol.  I.  Chap.  XII.  §  vi.),  nothing  more  than  its  de- 

*  Salisbury  spiro  is  only  a  tower  with  a  polygonal  gabled  roof  of  stone, 
and  so  also  the  celebrated  spires  of  Caen  and  Coutances. 

Vol.  II.— 14  ^ 


210 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


velopement.  So  that  we  must  add  to  our  definition  anothei 
clause,  which  will  be,  at  present,  by  far  the  most  important, 
and  it  will  stand  thus  :  H  Gothic  architecture  is  that  which  uses 
the  pointed  arch  for  the  roof  proper,  and  the  gable  for  the 
roof-mask." 

8  lxxxiii.  And  here,  in  passing,  let  us  notice  a  principle  as 
true  in  architecture  as  in  morals.  It  is  not  the  compelled,  but 
the  wilful,  transgression  of  law  which  corrupts  the  character. 
Sin  is  not  in  the  act,  but  in  the  choice.  It  is  a  law  for  Gothic 
architecture,  that  it  shall  use  the  pointed  arch  for  its  roof 
proper  ;  but  because,  in  many  cases  of  domestic  building,  this 
becomes  impossible  for  want  of  room  (the  whole  height  of  the 
apartment  being  required  everywhere),  or  in  various  other 
ways  inconvenient,  flat  ceilings  may  be  used,  and  yet  the 
Gothic  shall  not  lose  its  purity.  But  in  the  roof-mask,  there 
can  be  no  necessity  nor  reason  for  a  change  of  form  :  the  gable 
is  the  best ;  and  if  any  "other — dome,  or  bulging  crown,  or 
whatsoever  else — be  employed  at  all,  it  must  be  in  pure 
caprice,  and  wilful  transgression  of  law.  And  wherever, 
therefore,  this  is  done,  the  Gothic  has  lost  its  character  ;  it  is 
pure  Gothic  no  more. 

§  lxxxiv.  And  this  last  clause  of  the  definition  is  to  be 
more  strongly  insisted  upon,  because  it  includes  multitudes  of 
buildings,  especially  domestic.  wiiich  are  Gothic  in  spirit,  but 
which  we  are  not  in  the  habit  of  embracing  in  our  general  con- 
ception of  Gothic  architecture  ;  multitudes  of  street  dwelling- 
houses  and  straggling  country  farm-houses,  built  with  little 
care  for  beauty,  or  observance  of  Gothic  laws  in  vaults  or 
windows,  and  yet  maintaining  their  character  by  the  sharp 
and  quaint  gables  of  the  roofs.  And,  for  the  reason  just 
given,  a  house  is  far  more  Gothic  which  has  square  windows, 
and  a  boldly  gabled  roof,  than  the  one  which  has  pointed 
arches  for  the  windows,  and  a  domed  or  flat  roof.  For  it 
often  happened  in  the  best  Gothic  times,  as  it  must  in  all 
times,  that  it  was  more  easy  and  convenient  to  make  a  window 
square  than  pointed  ;  not  but  that,  as  above  emphatically 
stated,  the  richness  of  church  architecture  was  also  found  in 
domestic  ;  and  systematically  "  when  the  pointed  arch  was 


THE  NATURE  OF  GOTHIC. 


used  in  the  church  it  was  used  in  the  street,"  only  in  all  times 
there  were  cases  in  which  men  could  not  build  as  they  would, 
and  were  obliged  to  construct  their  doors  or  windows  in  the 
readiest  way  ;  and  this  readiest  way  was  then,  in  small  work, 
as  it  will  be  to  the  end  of  time,  to  put  a  flat  stone  for  a  lintel 
and  build  the  windows  as  in  Fig.  VIII.  ;  and  the  occurrence 
of  such  windows  in  a  building  or  a  street  will  not  un-Gothicize 
them,  so  long  as  the  bold  gable  roof  be  retained,  and  the  spirit 
of  the  work  be  visibly  Gothic  in  other  respects.  But  if  the 
roof  be  wilfully  and  conspicuously  of  any  other  form  than  the 
gable, — if  it  be  domed,  or  Turkish,  or  Chinese, — the  building 
has  positive  corruption  mingled  with  its  Gothic  elements,  in 
proportion  to  the  conspicuous- 
ness  of  the  roof  ;  and,  if  not 
absolutely  un-Gothicize d,  can 
maintain  its  character  only  by 
such  vigor  of  vital  Gothic  ener- 
gy in  other  parts  as  shall  cause 
the  roof  to  be  forgotten,  thrown 
off  like  an  eschar  from  the  living  frame.  Nevertheless,  we 
must  always  admit  that  it  may  be  forgotten,  and  that  if  the 
Gothic  seal  be  indeed  set  firmly  on  the  walls,  we  are  not  to 
cavil  at  the  forms  reserved  for  the  tiles  and  leads.  For,  observe, 
as  our  definition  at  present  stands,  being  understood  of  large 
roofs  only,  it  will  allow  a  conical  glass-furnace  to  be  a  Gothic 
building,  but  will  not  allow  so  much,  either  of  the  Duomo  of 
Florence,  or  the  Baptistery  of  Pisa.  We  must  either  mend  it, 
therefore,  or  understand  it  in  some  broader  sense. 

§  lxxxv.  And  now,  if  the  reader  will  look  back  to  the  fifth 
paragraph  of  Chap.  III.  Vol.  I.,  he  will  find  that  I  carefully 
extended  my  definition  of  a  roof  so  as  to  include  more  than  is 
usually  understood  by  the  term.  It  was  there  said  to  be  the 
covering  of  a  space,  narrow  or  wide.  It  does  not  in  the  least 
signify,  with  respect  to  the  real  nature  of  the  covering,  whether 
the  space  protected  be  two  feet  wide,  or  ten  ;  though  in  the 
one  case  we  call  the  protection  an  arch,  in  the  other  a  vault 
or  roof.  But  the  real  point  to  be  considered  is,  the  manner 
in  which  this  protection  stands,  and  not  whether  it  is  narrow 


212 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


or  broad.  We  call  the  vaulting  of  a  bridge  u  an  arch/'  be, 
cause  it  is  narrow  with  respect  to  the  river  it  crosses  ;  but  ii 
it  were  built  above  us  on  the  ground,  we  should  call  it  a  wag- 
gon vault,  because  then  we  should  feel  the  breadth  of  it.  The 
real  question  is  the  nature  of  the  curve,  not  the  extent  of 
space  over  which  it  is  carried  :  and  this  is  more  the  case  with 
respect  to  Gothic  than  to  airy  other  architecture  ;  for,  in  the 
greater  number  of  instances,  the  form  of  the  roof  is  entirely 
dependent  on  the  ribs  ;  the  domical  shells  being  constructed 
in  all  kinds  of  inclinations,  quite  undeterminable  by  the  eye, 
and  all  that  is  definite  in  their  character  being  fixed  by  the 
curves  of  the  ribs. 

§  lxxxvi.  Let  us  then  consider  our  definition  as  including 
the  narrowest  arch,  or  tracery  bar,  as  well  as  the  broadest  roof, 
and  it  will  be  nearly  a  perfect  one.  For  the  fact  is,  that  all 
good  Gothic  is  nothing  more  than  the  developement,  in  various 
ways,  and  on  every  conceivable  scale,  of  the  group  formed  by 
the  pointed  arch  for  the  bearing  line  below,  and  the  gable  for 
the  protecting  line  above  ;  and  from  the  huge,  gray,  shaly  slope 
of  the  cathedral  roof,  with  its  elastic  pointed  vaults  beneath, 
to  the  slight  crown-like  points  that  enrich  the 
/\  smallest  niche  of  its  doorway,  one  law  and  one  ex- 
pression will  be  found  in  all.  The  modes  of  support 
and  of  decoration  are  infinitely  various,  but  the 
treal  character  of  the  building,  in  all  good  Gothic, 
depends  upon  the  single  lines  of  the  gable  over  tii8 
pointed  arch,  Fig.  IX.,  endlessly  rearranged  or  repeated.  The 
larger  woodcut,  Fig.  X.,  represents  three  characteristic  con- 
ditions of  the  treatment  of  the  group  :  a,  from  a  tomb  at  Ve- 
rona (1328)  ;  b,  one  of  the  lateral  porches  at  Abbeville  ;  c} 
one  of  the  uppermost  points  of  the  great  western  fayade  of 
Rouen  Cathedral ;  both  these  last  being,  I  believe,  early  work 
of  the  fifteenth  century.  The  forms  of  the  pure  early  English 
and  French  Gothic  are  too  well  known  to  need  any  notice  ; 
my  reason  will  appear  presently  for  choosing,  by  way  of  ex* 
ample,  these  somewhat  rare  conditions. 

§  lxxxvii.  But,  first,  let  us  try  whether  we  cannot  get  the 
forms  of  the  other  great  architectures  of  the  world  broadly 


A  6 

A: 


THE  NATURE  OF  GOTHIC. 


213 


expressed  by  relations  of  the  same 
lines  into  which  we  have  compress- 
ed the  Gothic.  We  may  easily  do 
this  if  the  reader  will  first  allow 
me  to  remind  him  of  the  true  nat- 
ure of  the  pointed  arch,  as  it  was 
expressed  in  §  x.  Chap.  X.  of  the 
first  volume.  It  was  said  there, 
that  it  ought  to  he  called  a  "  curved 
gable,"  for,  strictly  speaking,  an 
"arch"  cannot  be  "pointed."  The 
so-called  pointed  arch  ought  always 
to  be  considered  as  a  gable,  with 
its  sides  curved  in  order  to  enable 
them  to  bear  pressure  from  with- 
out. Thus  considering  it,  there 
are  but  three  ways  in  which  an 
interval  between  piers  can  be 
bridged, — the  three  ways  repre- 
sented by  a,  b,  and  c,  Fig.  XI.,* 
on  page  214, — a,  the  lintel ;  b,  the 
round  arch  ;  c,  the  gable.  All  the 
architects  in  the  world  will  never 
discover  any  other  ways  of  bridg- 
ing a  space  than  these  three  ;  they 
may  vary  the  curve  of  the  arch,  or 
curve  the  sides  of  the  gable,  or 
break  them  ;  but  in  doing  this  they 
are  merely  modifying  or  subdivid- 
ing, not  adding  to  the  generic 
forms. 

§  lxxxviii.  Now  there  are  three 
good  architectures  in  the  world, 
and  there  never  can  be  more,  cor- 
respondent to  each  of  these  three 
simple  ways  of  covering  in  a  space, 

*  Or  by  the  shaded  portions  of  Fig. 
XXIX.  Vol.  I. 


Fig.  X. 


214 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


which  is  the  original  function  of  all  architectures.  And  those 
three  architectures  are  pure  exactly  ia  proportion  to  the  sim- 
plicity ancl  directness  with  which  they  express  the  condition 
of  roofing  on  which  they  are  founded.  They  have  many  in- 
teresting varieties,  according  to  their  scale,  manner  of  decora* 
tion,  and  character  of  the  nations  by  whom  they  are  practised, 
but  all  their  varieties  are  finally  referable  to  the  three  great 
heads  :  — 

a,  Greek  :  Architecture  of  the  Lintel. 

b,  Romanesque :  Architecture  of  the  Round  Arch, 

c,  Gothic  :  Architecture  of  the  Gable. 

Ffl  M  A 

ABC 

Fig.  XI. 

The  three  names,  Greek,  Romanesque,  and  Gothic,  are  in- 
deed inaccurate  when  used  in  this  vast  sense,  because  they 
imply  national  limitations  ;  but  the  three  architectures  may 
nevertheless  not  unfitly  receive  their  names  from  those  nations 
by  whom  they  were  carried  to  the  highest  perfections.  We 
may  thus  briefly  state  their  existing  varieties. 

§  lxxxix.  a.  Greek  :  Lintel  Architecture.  The  worst  of  the 
three  ;  and,  considered  with  reference  to  stone  construction, 
always  in  some  measure  barbarous.  Its  simplest  type  is 
Stonehenge  ;  its  most  refined,  the  Parthenon  ;  its  noblest,  the 
Temple  of  Karnak. 

In  the  hands  of  the  Egyptian,  it  is  sublime  ;  in  those  of  the 
Greek,  pure  ;  in  those  of  the  Roman,  rich ;  and  in  those  of  the 
Renaissance  builder,  effeminate. 

b.  Romanesque  :  Round-arch  Architecture.  Never  thor- 
oughly developed  until  Christian  times.  It  falls  into  two 
great  branches,  Eastern  and  Western,  or  Byzantine  and  Lom- 
bardic  ;  changing  respectively  in  process  of  time,  with  certain 
helps  from  each  other,  into  Arabian  Gothic  and  Teutonic 
Gothic.    Its  most  perfect  Lombardic  type  is  the  Duorao  of 


THE  NATURE  OF  GOTHIC. 


215 


Pisa;  its  most  perfect  Byzantine  type  (I  believe),  St.  Mark  a 
at  Venice.  Its  highest  glory  is,  that  it  has  no  corruption.  It 
perishes  in  giving  birth  to  another  architecture  as  noble  as 
itself, 

c.  Gothic  :  Architecture  of  the  Gable.  The  daughter  of 
the  Bomanesque  ;  and,  like  the  Romanesque,  divided  into  two 
great  branches,  Western  and  Eastern,  or  pure  Gothic  and 
Arabian  Gothic ;  of  which  the  latter  is  called  Gothic,  only  be- 
cause it  has  many  Gothic  forms,  pointed  arches,  vaults,  &c.> 
but  its  spirit  remains  Byzantine,  more  especially  in  the  form 
of  the  roof-mask,  of  which,  with  respect  to  these  three  great 
families,  we  have  next  to  determine  the  typical  form. 

§  xc.  For,  observe,  the  distinctions  we  have  hitherto  been 
stating,  depend  on  the  form  of  the  stones  first  laid  from  pier 
to  pier ;  that  is  to  say,  of  the  simplest  condition  of  roofs 
proper.  Adding  the  relations  of  the  roof-mask  to  these  lines, 
we  shall  have  the  perfect  type  of  form  for  each  school. 

In  the  Greek,  the  Western  Romanesque,  and  Western 
Gothic,  the  roof-mask  is 
the  gable  :  in  the  Eastern 
Romanesque,  and  Eastern 
Gothic,  it  is  the  dome  :  but 
I  have  not  studied  the  roof- 
ing of  either  of  these  last 
two  groups,  and  shall  not 
venture  to  generalize  them 
in  a  diagram.  But  the  three  groups,  in  the  hands  of  the  West- 
ern builders,  may  be  thus  simply  represented  :  a,  Fig.  XIX, 
Greek  ;  *  b.  Western  Romanesque  ;  c,  Western,  or  true,  Gothic. 

Nows  observe,  first,  that  the  relation  of  the  roof-mask  to  the 
roof  proper,  in  the  Greek  type,  forms  that  pediment  which 


KN 


a  i 

Fig.  XII. 


*  The  reader  is  not  to  suppose  that  Greek  architecture  had  always,  or 
often,  fiat  ceilings,  because  I  call  its  lintel  the  roof  proper.  He  must 
remember  I  always  use  these  terms  of  the  first  simple  arrangements  of 
materials  that  bridge  a  space  ;  bringing  in  the  real  roof  afterwards,  if  I 
can.  In  the  case  of  Greek  temples  it  would  be  vain  to  refer  their 
structure  to  the  real  roof,  for  many  were  hypasthral,  and  without  a  roof 
at  all.   I  am  unfortunately  more  ignorant  of  Egyptian  roofing  than  even 


216 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


gives  its  most  striking  character  to  the  temple,  and  is  the 
principal  recipient  of  its  sculptural  decoration.  The  relation 
of  these  lines,  therefore,  is  just  as  important  in  the  Greek  an 
in  the  Gothic  schools. 

§  xci.  Secondly,  the  reader  must  observe  the  difference  of 
steepness  in  the  Komanesque  and  Gothic  gables.  This  is  not 
an  unimportant  distinction,  nor  an  undecided  one.  The 
Romanesque  gable  does  not  pass  gradually  into  the  more  ele- 
vated form  ;  there  is  a  great  gulf  between  the  two  ;  the  whole 
effect  of  all  Southern  architecture  being  dependent  upon  the 
use  of  the  flat  gable,  and  of  all  Northern  upon  that  of  the 
acute.  I  need  not  here  dwell  upon  the  difference  between 
the  lines  of  an  Italian  village,  or  the  flat  tops  of  most  Italian 


XIII.,  and  strike  a  semicircle  on  its  base  ;  if  its  top  rises 
above  the  semicircle,  as  at  6,  it  is  a  Gothic  gable  ;  if  it  falls 
beneath  it,  a  Romanesque  one  ;  but  the  best  forms  in  each 
group  are  those  which  are  distinctly  steep,  or  distinctly  low. 
In  the  figure  f  is,  perhaps,  the  average  of  Romanesque  slope, 
and  g  of  Gothic. 

§  xcii.  But  although  we  do  not  find  a  transition  from  one 
school  into  the  other  in  the  slope  of  the  gables,  there  is  often 

of  Arabian,  so  that  I  cannot  bring  this  school  into  the  diagram  ;  but  the 
gable  appears  to  have  been  magnificently  used  for  a  bearing  roof.  Vide 
Mr.  Fergusson's  section  of  the  Pyramid  of  Geezeh,  "  Principles  of 
Beauty  in  Art,"  Plate  I.,  and  his  expressions  of  admiration  of  Egyptian 
roof  masonry,  page  201. 


Fig.  XIII. 


towers,  and  the  peaked  gables 
and  spires  of  the  North,  attain- 
ing their  most  fantastic  devel- 
opement,  I  believe,  in  Belgium: 
but  it  may  be  well  to  state  the 
law  of  separation,  namely,  that 
a  Gothic  gable  must  have  all  its 
angles  acute,  and  a  Koman- 
esque one  must  have  the  upper 
one  obtuse :  or,  to  give  the 
reader  a  simple  practical  rule, 
take    any  gable,  a  or  b,  Fig. 


THE  NATURE  OF  GOTHIC. 


217 


a  confusion  between  the  two  schools  in  the  association  of  the 
gable  with  the  arch  below  it.  It  has  just  been  stated  that  the 
pure  Eomanesque  condition  is  the  round  arch  under  the  low 
gable,  a,  Fig.  XIV.,  aDd  the  pure  Gothic  condition  is  the 
pointed  arch  under  the  high  gable,  b.  But  in  the  passage  from 
one  style  to  the  other,  we  sometimes  find  the  two  conditions 
reversed  ;  the  pointed  arch  under  a  low  gable,  as  d,  or  the 
round  arch  under  a  high  gable,  as  c.  The  form  d  occurs  in 
the  tombs  of  Verona,  and  e  in  the  doors  of  Venice. 


a  &  e  tZ 

Fig.  XIV. 

§  xciii.  We  have  thus  determined  the  relation  of  Gothic  to 
the  other  architectures  of  the  world,  as  far  as  regards  the  main 
lines  of  its  construction  ;  but  there  is  still  one  word  which  , 
needs  to  be  added  to  our  definition  of  its  form,  with  respect  to 
a  part  of  its  decoration,  which  rises  out  of  that  construction. 
We  have  seen  that  the  first  condition  of  its  form  is,  that  it 
shall  have  pointed  arches.  When  Gothic  is  perfect,  therefore, 
it  will  follow  that  the  pointed  arches  must  be  built  in  the 
strongest  possible  manner. 

Now,  if  the  reader  will  look  back  to  Chapter  XI.  of  Vol.  I, 
he  will  find  the  subject  of  the  masonry  of  the  pointed  arch 
discussed  at  length,  and  the  conclusion  deduced,  that  of  all 
possible  forms  of  the  pointed  arch  (a  certain  weight  of  material 
being  given),  that  generically  represented  at  e,  Fig.  XV.,  is 
the  strongest.  In  fact,  the  reader  can  see  in  a  moment  that 
the  weakness  of  the  pointed  arch  is  in  its  flanks,  and  that  by 
merely  thickening  them  gradually  at  this  point  ail  chance  of 
fracture  is  removed.    Or,  perhaps,  more  simply  still : — Sup- 


218 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


pose  a  gable  built  of  stone,  as  at  a,  and  pressed  upon  from 
without  by  a  weight  in  the  direction  of  the  arrow,  clearly  it 

would  be  liable  to  fall  in,  as 
at  b.  To  prevent  this,  wTe 
make  a  pointed  arch  of  it,  as 
at  c  ;  and  now  it  cannot  fall 
'  in  wards,  but  if  pressed  upon 
from  above  may  give  way  out- 
wards, as  at  d.  But  at  last 
we  build  as  at  e,  and  now  it 
can  neither  fall  out  nor  in. 

§  xcrv.  The  forms  of  arch 
thus  obtained,  with  a  pointed 
projection  called  a  cusp  on 
each  side,  must  for  ever  be  de- 
lightful to  the  human  mind, 
as  being  expressive  of  the 
utmost  strength  and  per- 
manency obtainable  with  a 
given  mass  of  material.  But 
it  was  not  by  any  such  pro- 
cess of  reasoning,  nor  with 
any  reference  to  laws  of  construction,  that  the  cusp  was 
originally  invented.  It  is  merely  the  special  application  to 
the  arch  of  the  great  ornamental  system  of  Foliation  ;  or  the 
adaptation  of  the  forms  of  leafage  wiiich  has  been  above  in- 
sisted upon  as  the  principal  characteristic  of  Gothic  Natural- 
ism. This  love  of  foliage  wras  exactly  proportioned,  in  its 
intensity,  to  the  increase  of  strength  in  the  Gothic  spirit  :  in 
the  Southern  Gothic  it  is  soft  leafage  that  is  most  loved  ;  in 
the  Northern  thorny  leafage.  And  if  we  take  up  any  North- 
ern illuminated  manuscript  of  the  great  Gothic  time,  we  shall 
find  every  one  of  its  leaf  ornaments  surrounded  by  a  thorny 
structure  laid  round  it  in  gold  or  in  color  ;  sometimes  appar- 
ently copied  faithfully  from  the  prickly  developement  of  the 
root  of  the  leaf  in  the  thistle,  running  along  the  stems  ana 
branches  exactly  as  the  thistle  leaf  does  along  its  own  stem, 
and  with  sharp  spines  proceeding  from  the  points,  as  in  Fig, 


THBJ  NATURE  OF  GOTHIC. 


219 


XVI.  At  other  times,  and  for  the  most  port  in  work  in  the 
thirteenth  century,  the  golden  ground  takes  the  form  of  pure 
and  severe  cusps,  sometimes  enclosing  the  leaves,  sometimes 
filling  .up  the  forks  of  the  branches  (as  in  the  example  fig.  1, 
Plate  I.  Vol.  Ill),  passing  imperceptibly  from  the  distinctly 
vegetable  condition  (in  which  it  is  just  as  certainty  representa- 
tive of  the  thorn,  as  other  parts  of  the  design  are  of  the  bud, 
leaf,  and  fruit)  into  the  crests  on  the  necks,  or  the  membra- 
nous sails  of  the  wings,  of  serpents,  dragons,  and  other  gro- 
tesques, as  in  Fig.  XVII.,  and  into  rich  and  vague  fantasies  of 


curvature  ;  among  which,  however,  the  pure  cusped  system 
of  the  pointed  arch  is  continually  discernible,  not  acciden- 
tally, but  designedly  indicated,  and  connecting  itself  with  the 
literally  architectural  portions  of  the  design. 

§  xcv.  The  system,  then,  of  what  is  called  Foliation,  whether 
simple,  as  in  the  cusped  arch,  or  complicated,  as  in  tracery, 
rose  out  of  this  love  of  leafage  ;  not  that  the  form  of  the  arch 
is  intended  to  imitate  a  leaf,  but  to  be  invested  with  the  name 
characters  of  beauty  which  the  designer  had  discovered  in  the  leaf. 
Observe,  there  is  a  wide  difference  between  these  two  inten- 
tions. The  idea  that  large  Gothic  structure,  in  arches  and 
roofs,  was  int  nded  to  imitate  vegetation  is,  as  above  noticed, 
untenable  foi  ?n  instant  in  the  front  of  facts.    But  the  Gothic 


Fig.  XVI. 


Fig.  XVII. 


220 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


builder  perceived  that,  in  the  leaves  wliicli  lie  copied  for  his 
minor  decorations,  there  was  a  peculiar  beauty,  arising  from 
certain  characters  of  curvature  in  outline,  and  certain  methods 
of  subdivision  and  of  radiation  in  structure.  On  a  small  scale, 
in  his  sculptures  and  his  missal-painting,  he  copied  the  leaf 
or  thorn  itself  ;  on  a  large  scale  he  adopted  from  it  its  ab- 
stract sources  of  beauty,  and  gave  the  same  kinds  of  curva- 
tures and  the  same  species  of  subdivision  to  the  outline  of  his 
arches,  so  far  as  was  consistent  with  their  strength,  never,  in 
any  single  instance,  suggesting  the  resemblance  to  leafage  by 
irregularity  of  outline,  but  keeping  the  structure  perfectly 
simple,  and,  as  we  have  seen,  so  consistent  with  the  best  prin- 
ciples of  masonry,  that  in  the  finest  Gothic  designs  of  arches, 
which  are  always  single  cusped  (the  cinquefoiled  arch  being 
licentious,  though  in  early  work  often  very  lovely),  it  is  liter- 
ally impossible,  without  consulting  the  context  of  the  build- 
ing, to  say  whether  the  cusps  have  been  added  for  the  sake 
of  beauty  or  of  strength  ;  nor,  though  in  mediaeval  architecture 
the}'  were,  I  believe,  assuredly  first  employed  in  mere  love  of 
their  picturesque  form,  am  I  absolutely  certain  that  their 
earliest  invention  was  not  a  structural  effort.  For  the  earliest 
cusps  with  which  I  am  acquainted  are  those  used  in  the  vaults 
of  the  great  galleries  of  the  Serapeum,  discovered  in  1850  by 
M.  Maniette  at  Memphis,  and  described  by  Colonel  Hamilton 
in  a  paper  read  in  February  last  before  the  Eoyal  Society  of 
Literature.*  The  roofs  of  its  galleries  were  admirably  shown 
in  Colonel  Hamilton's  drawings  made  to  scale  upon  the  spot, 
and  their  profile  is  a  cusped  round  arch,  perfectly  pure  and 
simple  ;  but  whether  thrown  into  this  form  for  the  sake  of 
strength  or  of  grace,  I  am  unable  to  say. 

§  xcvi.  It  is  evident,  however,  that  the  structural  advantage 
of  the  cusp  is  available  only  in  the  case  of  arches  on  a  com- 
paratively small  scale.  If  the  arch  becomes  very  large,  the 
projections  under  the  flanks  must  become  too  ponderous  to 
be  secure  ;  the  suspended  weight  of  stone  would  be  liable  to 
break  off,  and  such  arches  are  therefore  never  constructed 
with  heavy  cusps,  but  rendered  secure  by  general  mass  of 
*  See  4  Athenaeum, '  March  5th,  1853. 


THE  NATURE  OF  GOTHIC. 


221 


masonry ;  and  what  additional  appearance  of  support  may  be 
thought  necessary  (sometimes  a  considerable  degree  of  actual 
support)  is  given  by  means  of  tracery. 

§  xcvu.  Of  what  I  stated  in  the  second  chapter  of  the 
"  Seven  Lamps  "  respecting  the  nature  of  tracery,  I  need  re- 
peat here  only  this  much,  that  it  began  in  the  use  of  penetra* 
tions  through  the  stonework  of  windows  or  walls,  cut  into 
forms  which  looked  like  stars  when  seen  from  within,  and  like 
leaves  when  seen  from  with- 
out :  the  name  foil  or  feuille 
being  universally  applied  to  i 
the  separate  lobes  of  their 
extremities,  and  the  pleas- 
ure received  from  them  be-i 
ing  the  same  as  that  which 
we  feel  in  the  triple,  quad- 
ruple, or  other  radiated 
leaves  of  vegetation,  joined  { 
with  the  perception  of  a 
severely  geometrical  order 
and  symmetry.  A  few  of  \ 
the  most  common  forms  are 
represented,  unconfused  by 
exterior  mouldings,  in  Fig, 
XVIII.,  and  the  best  tra- 
ceries are  nothing  more  than  < 
close  clusters  of  such  forms, 
with  mouldings  folio  wine: 
their  outlines. 

§  xcvm.  The  term  "foliated,"  therefore,  is  equally  descrip- 
tive of  the  most  perfect  conditions  both  of  the  simple  arch  and 
of  the  traceries  by  which,  in  later  Gothic,  it  is  filled  ;  and  this 
foliation  is  an  essential  character  of  the  style.  No  Gothic  is 
either  good  or  characteristic  which  is  not  foliated  either  in  its 
arches  or  apertures.  Sometimes  the  bearing  arches  are  foliated, 
and  the  ornamentation  above  composed  of  figure  sculpture  ; 
sometimes  the  bearing  arches  are  plain,  and  the  ornamentation 
above  them  is  composed  of  foliated  apertures.    But  the  ele- 


Fig.  XVIII. 


222 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


merit  of  foliation  must  enter  somewhere,  or  the  style  is  imper* 
feet.  And  our  final  definition  of  Gothic  will,  therefore,  stand 
thus  : — 

"  Foliated  Architecture,  which  uses  the  pointed  arch  for 
the  roof  proper,  and  the  gable  for  the  roof-mask." 

§  xcix.  And  now  there  is  but  one  point  more  to  be  exam* 
ined,  and  we  have  done. 

Foliation,  while  it  is  the  most  distinctive  and  peculiar,  is 
also  the  easiest  method  of  decoration  which  Gothic  architect- 
ure possesses  ;  and,  although  in  the  disposition  of  the  propor- 
tions and  forms  of  foils,  the  most  noble  imagination  may 
be  shown,  yet  a  builder  without  imagination  at  all,  or  any 

other  faculty  of  design, 
'  can  produce  some  effect 
upon  the  mass  of  his  work 
by  merely  covering  it  with 
foolish  foliation.  Throw 
any  number  of  crossing 
5=  lines  together  at  random, 
J  as  in  Fig.  XIX.,  and  fill 
their  squares  and  oblong 
openings  with  quatrefoila 
and  cinquefoils,  and  you 
will  immediately  have 
what  will  stand,  with  most 
people,  for  very  satisfac- 
tory Gothic.  The  slight- 
est possible  acquaintance 
with  existing  forms  will  enable  any  architect  to  vary  his  patterns 
of  foliation  with  as  much  ease  as  he  would  those  of  a  kaleido- 
scope, and  to  produce  a  building  which  the  present  European 
public  will  think  magnificent,  though  there  may  not  be,  from 
foundation  to  coping,  one  ray  of  invention,  or  any  other  intel- 
lectual merit,  in  the  whole  mass  of  it.  But  floral  decoration,  and 
the  disposition  of  mouldings,  require  some  skill  and  thought ; 
and,  if  they  are  to  be  agreeable  at  all,  must  be  verily  invented.  02 
accurately  copied.  They  cannot  be  drawn  altogether  at  ran- 
dom, without  becoming  so  commonplace  as  to  involve  detect 


the  nature  of  goimic. 


223 


tion  .  and  although,  as  I  have  just  said,  the  noblest  imagina- 
tion may  be  shown  in  the  dispositions  of  traceries,  there  is  far 
more  room  for  its  play  and  power  when  those  traceries  are 
associated  with  floral  or  animal  ornament ;  and  it  is  probable, 
d  priori,  that,  wherever  true  invention  exists,  such  ornament 
will  be  employed  in  profusion, 

§  c.  Now,  all  Gothic  may  be  divided  into  two  vast  schools,  one 
early,  the  other  late  ;  *  of  which  the  former,  noble,  inventive,, 
and  progressive,  uses  the  element  of  foliation  moderately, 
that  of  floral  and  figure  sculpture  decoration  profusely  ;  the 
latter,  ignoble,  uninventive,  and  declining,  uses  foliation  im- 
moderately, floral  and  figure  sculpt  are  subordinately.  The 
two  schools  touch  each  other  at  that  instant  of  momentous 
change,  dwelt  upon  in  the  "  Seven  Lamps,"  chap,  ii.,  a  period 
later  or  earlier  in  different  districts,  but  which  may  be  broadly 
stated  as  the  middle  of  the  fourteenth  century  ;  both  styles 
being,  of  course,  in  their  highest  excellence  at  the  moment 
when  they  meet,  the  one  ascending  to  the  point  of  junction, 
the  one  declining  from  it,  but,  at  first,  not  in  any  marked 
degree,  and  only  showing  the  characters  which  justify  its 
being  above  called,  generically,  ignoble,  as  its  declension 
reaches  steeper  slope. 

§  ci.  Of  these  two  great  schools,  the  first  uses  foliation  only 
in  large  and  simple  masses,  and  covers  the  minor  members5 
cusps,  &c,  of  that  foliation,  with  various  sculpture.  The 
latter  decorates  foliation  itself  with  minor  foliation,  and  breaks 
its  traceries  into  endless  and  lace-like  subdivision  of  tracery. 

A  few  instances  will  explain  the  difference  clearly.  Fig.  2, 
Plate  XII.,  represents  half  of  an  eight-foiled  aperture  from 
Salisbury  :  where  the  element  of  foliation  is  employed  in  the 
larger  disposition  of  the  starry  form  ;  but  in  the  decoration 
of  the  cusp  it  has  entirely  disappeared,  and  the  ornament  is 
floral. 

But  in  fig.  1,  which  is  part  of  a  fringe  round  one  of  the 
later  windows  in  Rouen  Cathedral,  the  foliation  is  first  carried 

*Late,  and  chiefly  confined  to  Northern  countries,  so  that  the  two 
schools  may  be  opposed  either  as  Early  and  Late  Gothic,  or  (in  the 
fourteenth  century)  as  Southern  and  Northern  Gothic. 

^ 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


boldly  round  the  arch,  and  then  each  cusp  of  it  divided  into 
other  forms  of  foliation.  The  two  larger  canopies  of  niches 
below,  figs.  5  and  6,  are  respectively  those  seen  at  the  flanks 
of  the  two  uppermost  examples  of  gabled  Gothic  in  Fig.  X., 
p.  213.  Those  examples  were  there  chosen  in  order  also  to 
illustrate  the  distinction  in  the  character  of  ornamentation 
which  we  are  at  present  examining  ;  and  if  the  reader  will 
look  back  to  them,  and  compare  their  methods  of  treatment, 
he  will  at  once  be  enabled  to  fix  that  distinction  clearly  in  his 
mind.  He  will  observe  that  in  the  uppermost  the  element  of 
foliation  is  scrupulously  confined  to  the  bearing  arches  of  the 
gable,  and  of  the  lateral  niches,  so  that,  on  any  given  side  &f 
the  monument,  only  three  foliated  arches  are  discernible. 
All  the  rest  of  the  ornamentation  is  u  bossy  sculpture,"  set  on 
the  broad  marble  surface.  On  the  point  of  the  gable  are  set 
the  shield  and  clog-crest  of  the  Scalas,  with  its  bronze  wings, 
as  of  a  dragon,  thrown  out  from  it  on  either  side  ;  below,  an 
admirably  sculptured  oak-tree  fills  the  centre  of  the  field  ; 
beneath  it  is  the  death  of  Abel,  Abel  lying  dead  upon  his  face 
on  one  side,  Cain  opposite,  looking  up  to  heaven  in  terror  : 
the  border  of  the  arch  is  formed  of  various  leafage,  alternat- 
ing with  the  scala  shield  ;  and  the  cusps  are  each  filled  by  one 
flower,  and  two  broad  flowing  leaves.  The  whole  is  exquis- 
itely relieved  by  color  ;  the  ground  being  of  pale  red  Verona 
marble,  and  the  statues  and  foliage  of  white  Carrara  marble, 
inlaid. 

§  on.  The  figure  below  it,  b,  represents  the  southern  lateral 
door  of  the  principal  church  in  Abbeville :  the  smallness  of 
the  scale  compelled  me  to  make  it  somewhat  heavier  in  the 
lines  of  its  traceries  than  it  is  in  reality,  but  the  door  itself  is 
one  of  the  most  exquisite  pieces  of  flamboyant  Gothic  in  the 
world  ;  and  it  is  interesting  to  see  the  shield  introduced  here, 
at  the  point  of  the  gable,  in  exactly  the  same  manner  as  in  the 
upper  example,  and  with  precisely  the  same  purpose, — to  stay 
the  eye  in  its  ascent,  and  to  keep  it  from  being  offended  by 
the  sharp  point  of  the  gable,  the  reversed  angle  of  the  shield 
being  so  energetic  as  completely  to  balance  the  upward  ten- 
dency of  the  great  convergent  lines.    It  will  be  seen,  however^ 


THE  NATURE  OF  GOTHIC, 


225 


as  this  example  is  studied,  that  its  other  decorations  are  alto* 
gether  different  from  those  of  the  Veronese  tomb  ;  that,  here, 
the  whole  effect  is  dependent  on  mere  multiplications  of 
similar  lines  of  tracery,  sculpture  being  hardly  introduced  ex- 
cept in  the  seated  statue  under  the  central  niche,  and,  formerly, 
in  groups  filling  the  shadowy  hollows  under  the  small  niches 
in  the  archivolt,  but  broken  away  in  the  Kevolution.  And  if 
now  we  turn  to  Plate  XII.,  just  passed,  and  examine  the  heads 
of  the  two  lateral  niches  there  given  from  each  of  these  monu- 
ments on  a  larger  scale,  the  contrast  will  be  yet  more  apparent. 
The  one  from  Abbeville  (fig.  5),  though  it  contains  much 
floral  work  of  the  crisp  Northern  kind  in  its  finial  and  crock- 
ets, yet  depends  for  all  its  effect  on  the  various  patterns  of 
foliation  with  which  its  spaces  are  filled  ;  and  it  is  so  cut 
through  and.  through  that  it  is  hardly  stronger  than  a  piece 
of  lace  :  whereas  the  pinnacle  from  Verona  depends  for  its 
effect  on  one  broad  mass  of  shadow,,  boldly  shaped  into  the 
trefoil  in  its  bearing  arch  ;  and  there  is  no  other  trefoil  on  that 
side  of  the  niche.  All  the  rest  of  its  decoration  is  floral,  or 
by  almonds  and.  bosses  ;  and  its  surface  of  stone  is  unpierced, 
and  kept  in  broad  light,  and  the  mass  of  it  thick  and  strong 
enough  to  stand  for  as  many  more  centuries  as  it  has  already 
stood,  scatheless,  in  the  open  street  of  Verona.  The  figures  3 
and  4,  above  each  niche,  show  how  the  same  principles  are 
carried  out  into  the  smallest  details  of  the  two  edifices,  3  be- 
ing the  moulding  which  borders  the  gable  at  Abbeville,  and  4, 
that  in  the  same  position  at  Verona  ;  and  as  thus  in  all  cases 
the  distinction  in  their  treatment  remains  the  same,  the  one 
attracting  the  eye  to  broad  sculptured  surfaces,  the  other  to 
involutions  of  intricate  lines,  I  shall  hereafter  characterize  the 
two  schools,  whenever  I  have  occasion  to  refer  to  them,  the 
on^  as  Surface  Gothic,  the  other  as  Linear-Gothic. 

§  cm.  Now  observe  :  it  is  not,  at  present,  the  question, 
whether  the  form  of  the  Veronese  niche,  and  the  design  of  its 
flower- work,  be  as  good  as  they  might  have  been  ;  but  simply, 
which  of  the  two  architectural  principles  is  the  greater  and 
better.  And  this  we  cannot  hesitate  for  an  instant  in  decid- 
ing. The  Veronese  Gothic  is  strong  in  its  masonry,  simple 
Vol.  IL— 15 


220 


THE  STONES  OF  VENIOR 


in  its  masses,  but  perpetual  in  its  variety.  The  late  French 
Gothic  is  weak  in  masonry,  broken  in  mass,  and  repeats  the 
Barae  idea  continually.  It  is  very  beautiful,  but  the  Italian 
Gothic  is  the  nobler  style. 

£  civ.  Yet,  in  saying  that  the  French  Gothic  repeats  one 
idea,  I  mean  merely  that  it  depends  too  much  upon  the  folia- 
tion of  its  traceries.  The  disposition  of  the  traceries  them- 
selves is  endlessly  varied  and  inventive  ;  and  indeed,  the  mind 
of  the  French  workman  was,  perhaps,  even  richer  in  fancy 
than  that  of  the  Italian,  only  he  had  been  taught  a  less  noble 
style.  This  is  especially  to  be  remembered  with  respect  to  the 
subordination  of  figure  sculpture  above  noticed  as  character- 
istic of  the  later  Gothic. 

It  is  not  that  such  sculpture  is  wanting ;  on  the  contrary, 
it  is  often  worked  into  richer  groups,  and  carried  out  with  a 
perfection  of  execution,  far  greater  than  those  which  adorn 
the  earlier  buildings  :  but,  in  the  early  work,  it  is  vigorous, 
prominent,  and  essential  to  the  beauty  of  the  whole  ;  in  the 
late  work  it  is  enfeebled,  and  shrouded  in  the  veil  of  tracery, 
from  which  it  may  often  be  removed  with  little  harm  to  the 
general  effect.* 

§  cv.  Now  the  reader  may  rest  assured  that  no  principle  of 
art  is  more  absolute  than  this, — that  a  composition  from 
which  anything  can  be  removed  without  doing  mischief  is 
always  so  far  forth  inferior.  On  this  ground,  therefore,  if  on 
no  other,  there  can  be  no  question,  for  a  moment,  which  of 
the  two  schools  is  the  greater ;  although  there  are  many  most 
noble  works  in  the  French  traceried  Gothic,  having  a  sublim- 
ity of  their  own  dependent  on  their  extreme  richness  and 
grace  of  line,  and  for  which  we  may  be  most  grateful  to  their 
builders.  And,  indeed,  the  superiority  of  the  Surface-Gothic 
cannot  be  completely  felt,  until  we  compare  it  with  the  more 

*  In  many  of  the  best  French  Gothic  churches,  the  groups  of  figures 
have  been  all  broken  away  at  the  Revolution,  without  much  harm  to  the 
picturesqueness,  though  with  grievous  loss  to  the  historical  value  of  the 
architecture  :  whereas,  if  from  the  niche  at  Verona  we  were  to  remove 
its  floral  ornaments,  and  the  statue  beneath  it,  nothing  would  remain 
\)iit  a  rude  square  tref oiled  shell,  utterly  valueless,  or  even  ugly. 


THE  NATURE  OF  GOTHIC. 


227 


degraded  Linear  schools,  as,  for  instance,  with  our  own  Eng- 
lish Perpendicular.  The  ornaments  of  the  Veronese  niche, 
which  we  have  used  for  our  example,  are  by  no  means  among 
the  best  of  their  school,  yet  they  will  serve  our  purpose  for 
such  a  comparison.  That  of  its  pinnacle  is  composed  of  a 
single  upright  flowering  plant,  of  which  the  stem  shoots  up 
through  the  centres  of  the  leaves,  and  bears  a  pendent  blos- 
som, somewhat  like  that  of  the  imperial 
lily.  The  leaves  are  thrown  back  from  the 
stem  with  singular  grace  and  freedom,  and 
foreshortened,  as  if  by  a  skilful  painter,  in 
the  shallow  marble  relief.  Their  arrange- 
ment is  roughly  shown  in  the  little  wood- 
cut at  the  side  (Fig.  XX.) ;  and  if  the 
reader  will  simply  try  the  experiment  for 
himself, — first, of  covering  a  piece  of  paper 
with  crossed  lines,  as  if  for  accounts,  and 
filling  all  the  interstices  with  any  foliation 
that  comes  into  his  head,  as  in  Figure 
XIX.  above  ;  and  then,  of  trying  to  fill  the 
point  of  a  gable  with  a  piece  of  leafage 
like  that  in  Figure  XX.,  putting  the 
figure  itself  aside, — he  will  presently  find 
that  more  thought  and  invention  are  re- 
quired to  design  this  single  minute  pin- 
nacle, than  to  cover  acres  of  ground  with 
English  perpendicular. 

§  cvi.  We  have  now,  I  believe,  obtained 
a  sufficiently  accurate  knowledge  both 
of  the  spirit  and  form  of  Gothic  archi- 
tecture ;  but  it  may,  perhaps,  be  useful  to  the  general  reader, 
if,  in  conclusion,  I  set  down  a  few  plain  and  practical  rules 
for  determining,  in  every  instance,  whether  a  given  building 
be  good  Gothic  or  not,  and,  if  not  Gothic,  whether  its  archi- 
tecture is  of  a  kind  which  will  probably  reward  the  pains  of 
careful  examination. 

§  cvn.  First.  Look  if  the  roof  rises  in  a  steep  gable,  high 
above  the  walls.    If  it  does  not  do  this,  there  is  something 


228 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE, 


wrong  ;  the  building  is  not  quite  pure  Gothic,  or  has  been 
altered. 

§  cvm.  Secondly.  Look  if  the  principal  windows  and  doors 
have  pointed  arches  with  gables  over  them.  If  not  pointed 
arches,  the  building  is  not  Gothic  ;  if  they  have  not  any  gables 
over  them,  it  is  either  not  pure,  or  not  first-rate. 

If,  however,  it  has  the  steep  roof,  the  pointed  arch,  and 
gable  all  united,  it  is  nearly  certain  to  be  a  Gothic  building  of 
a  very  fine  time. 

§  cix.  Thirdly.  Look  if  the  arches  are  cusped,  or  apertures 
foliated.  If  the  building  has  met  the  first  two  conditions,  it 
is  sure  to  be  foliated  somewhere  ;  but,  if  not  everywhere,  the 
parts  which  are  unfoliated  are  imperfect,  unless  they  are  large 
bearing  arches,  or  small  and  sharp  arches  in  groups,  forming 
a  kind  of  foliation  by  their  own  multiplicity,  and  relieved  by 
sculpture  and  rich  mouldings.  The  upper  windows,  for  in- 
stance, in  the  east  end  of  Westminster  Abbey  are  imperfect 
for  want  of  foliation.  If  there  be  no  foliation  anywhere,  the 
building  is  assuredly  imperfect  Gothic. 

§  ex.  Fourthly.  If  the  building  meets  all  the  first  three 
conditions,  look  if  its  arches  in  general,  whether  of  windows 
and  doors,  or  of  minor  ornamentation,  are  carried  on  true 
shafts  with  bases  and  capitals.  If  they  are,  then  the  building 
is  assuredly  of  the  finest  Gothic  style.  It  may  still,  perhaps, 
be  an  imitation,  a  feeble  copy,  or  a  bad  example  of  a  noble 
style  ;  but  the  manner  of  it,  having  met  all  these  four  condi- 
tions, is  assuredly  first-rate. 

If  its  apertures  have  not  shafts  and  capitals,  look  if  they 
are  plain  openings  in  the  walls,  studiously  simple,  and  un- 
moulded  at  the  sides  ;  as,  for  instance,  the  arch  in  Plate  XIX., 
Vol.  I.  If  so,  the  building  may  still  be  of  the  finest  Gothic, 
adapted  to  some  domestic  or  military  service.  But  if  the 
sides  of  the  window  be  moulded,  and  yet  there  are  no  capitals 
at  the  spring  of  the  arch,  it  is  assuredly  of  an  inferior  school. 

This  is  all  that  is  necessary  to  determine  whether  the  build- 
ing be  of  a  fine  Gothic  style.  The  next  tests  to  be  applied 
are  in  order  to  discover  whether  it  be  good  architecture  or 
not :  for  it  may  be  very  impure  Gothic,  and  yet  very  noble 


THE  NATURE  OF  GOTHIC. 


229 


architecture  ;  or  it  may  be  very  pure  Gothic,  and  yet,  if  a 
copy,  or  originally  raised  by  an  ungifted  builder,  very  bad 
architecture. 

If  it  belong  to  any  of  the  great  schools  of  color,  its  criticism 
becomes  as  complicated,  and  needs  as  much  care,  as  that  of  a 
piece  of  music,  and  no  general  rules  for  it  can  be  given  ;  but 
if  not — 

§  cxi.  First.  See  if  it  looks  as  if  it  had  been  built  by 
strong  men  ;  if  it  has  the  sort  of  roughness,  and  largeness,  and 
nonchalance,  mixed  in  places  with  the  exquisite  tenderness 
which  seems  always  to  be  the  sign-manual  of  the  broad  vis- 
ion, and  massy  power  of  men  who  can  see  past  the  work  they 
are  doing,  and  betray  here  and  there  something  like  disdain 
for  it.  If  the  building  has  this  character,  it  is  much  alread}r 
in  its  favor  ;  it  will  go  hard  but  it  proves  a  noble  one.  If  it 
has  not  this,  but  is  altogether  accurate,  minute,  and  scrupu- 
lous in  its  workmanship,  it  must  belong  to  either  the  very 
best  or  the  very  worst  of  schools  :  the  very  best,  in  which  ex- 
quisite design  is  wrought  out  with  untiring  and  conscientious 
care,  as  in  the  Giottesque  Gothic  ;  or  the  very  worst,  in  which 
mechanism  has  taken  the  place  of  design.  It  is  more  likely, 
in  general,  that  it  should  belong  to  the  worst  than  the  best : 
so  that,  on  the  whole,  very  accurate  workmanship  is  to  be  es- 
teemed a  bad  sign  ;  and  if  there  is  nothing  remarkable  about 
the  building  but  its  precision,  it  may  be  passed  at  once  with 
contempt. 

§  cxii.  Secondly.  Observe  if  it  be  irregular,  its  different 
parts  fitting  themselves  to  different  purposes,  no  one  caring 
what  becomes  of  them,  so  that  they  do  their  work.  If  one 
part  always  answers  accurately  to  another  part,  it  is  sure  to 
be  a  bad  building  ;  and  the  greater  and  more  conspicuous  the 
irregularities,  the  greater  the  chances  are  that  it  is  a  good  one. 
For  instance,  in  the  Ducal  Palace,  of  which  a  rough  woodcut 
is  given  in  Chap.  VIII.,  the  general  idea  is  sternly  symmetri- 
cal ;  but  two  windows  are  lower  than  the  rest  of  the  six  ;  and 
if  the  reader  will  count  the  arches  of  the  small  arcade  as  far 
as  to  the  great  balcony,  he  will  find  it  is  not  in  the  centre,  but 
set  to  the  right-hand  side  by  the  whole  width  of  one  of  those 


230 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


arches.  We  may  be  pretty  sure  that  the  building  is  a  good 
one  ;  none  but  a  master  of  his  craft  would  have  ventured  to 
do  this. 

§  cxiii.  Thirdly.  Observe  if  all  the  traceries,  capitals,  and 
other  ornaments  are  of  perpetually  varied  design.  If  not,  the 
work  is  assuredly  bad. 

§  cxiv.  Lastly.  Read  the  sculpture.  Preparatory  to  read- 
ing it,  you  will  have  to  discover  whether  it  is  legible  (and,  if 
legible,  it  is  nearly  certain  to  be  worth  reading).  On  a  good 
building,  the  sculpture  is  always  so  set,  and  on  such  a  scale, 
that  at  the  ordinary  distance  from  which  the  edifice  is  seen, 
the  sculpture  shall  be  thoroughly  intelligible  and  interesting. 
In  order  to  accomplish  this,  the  uppermost  statues  will  be  ten 
or  twelve  feet  high,  and  the  upper  ornamentation  will  be  co- 
lossal, increasing  in  fineness  as  it  descends,  till  on  the  founda- 
tion it  will  often  be  wrought  as  if  for  a  precious  cabinet  in  a 
king's  chamber  ;  but  the  spectator  will  not  notice  that  the 
upper  sculptures  are  colossal.  He  will  merely  feel  that  he 
can  see  them  plainly,  and  make  them  all  out  at  his  ease. 

And,  having  ascertained  this,  let  him  set  himself  to  read 
them.  Thenceforward  the  criticism  of  the  building  is  to  be 
conducted  precisely  on  the  same  principles  as  that  of  a  book  ; 
and  it  must  depend  on  the  knowledge,  feeling,  and  not  a  lit- 
tle on  the  industry  and  perseverance  of  the  reader,  whether, 
even  in  the  case  of  the  best  works,  he  either  perceive  them  to 
be  great,  or  feel  them  to  be  entertaining. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

GOTHIC  PALACES. 

§  i.  The  buildings  out  of  the  remnants  of  which  we  have 
endeavored  to  recover  some  conception  of  .  the  appearance  of 
Venice  during  the  Byzantine  period,  contribute  hardly  any- 
thing at  this  day  to  the  effect  of  the  streets  of  this  city. 
They  are  too  few  and  too  much  defaced  to  attract  the  eye  or 
influence  the  feelings.    The  charm  which  Venice  still  posses- 


GOTHIC  PALACES. 


231 


ses,  and  which  for  the  last  fifty  years  has  rendered  it  the  fa- 
vorite haunt  of  all  the  painters  of  picturesque  subject,  is 
owing  to  the  effect  of  the  palaces  belonging  to  the  period  we 
have  now  to  examine,  mingled  with  those  of  the  Renais- 
sance. 

This  effect  is  produced  in  two  different  ways.  The  Renais- 
sance palaces  are  not  more  picturesque  in  themselves  than 
the  club-houses  of  Pall  Mall ;  but  they  become  delightful  by 
the  contrast  of  their  severity  and  refinement  with  the  rich  and 
rude  confusion  of  the  sea  life  beneath  them,  and  of  their 
white  and  solid  masonry  with  the  green  waves.  Remove  from 
beneath  them  the  orange  sails  of  the  fishing  boats,  the  black 
gliding  of  the  gondolas,  the  cumbered  decks  and  rough  crews 
of  the  barges  of  traffic,  and  the  fretfulness  of  the  green 
wafer  along  their  foundations,  and  the  Renaissance  palaces 
possess  no  more  interest  than  those  of  London  or  Paris.  But 
the  Gothic  palaces  are  picturesque  in  themselves,  and  wield 
over  us  an  independent  power.  Sea  and  sky,  and  every  other 
accessory  might  be  taken  away  from  them,  and  still  they 
wTould  be  beautiful  and  strange.  They  are  not  less  striking 
in  the  loneliest  streets  of  Padua  and  Vicenza  (where  many 
were  built  during  the  period  of  the  Venetian  authority  in 
those  cities)  than  in  the  most  crowded  thoroughfares  of  Ven- 
ice itself ;  and  if  they  could  be  transported  into  the  midst  of 
London,  they  would  still  not  altogether  lose  their  power  over 
the  feelings. 

§  xl  The  best  proof  of  this  is  in  the  perpetual  attractive- 
ness of  all  pictures,  however  poor  in  skill,  which  have  taken 
for  their  subject  the  principal  of  these  Gothic  buildings,  the 
Ducal  Palace.  In  spite  of  all  architectural  theories  and  teach- 
ings, the  paintings  of  this  building  are  always  felt  to  be  de- 
lightful ;  we  cannot  be  wearied  by  them,  though  often  sorely 
tried  ;  but  we  are  not  put  to  the  same  trial  in  the  case  of  the 
palaces  of  the  Renaissance.  They  are  never  drawn  singly,  or 
as  the  principal  subject,  nor  can  they  be.  The  building  which 
faces  the  Ducal  Palace  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  Piazzetta  is 
celebrated  among  architects,  but  it  is  not  familiar  to  our  eyes  ; 
it  is  painted  only  incidentally,  for  the  completion,  not  the 


232 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


subject,  of  a  Venetian  scene  ;  and  even  the  Renaissance  ar- 
cades of  St.  Mark's  Place,  though  frequently  painted,  are  al- 
ways treated  as  a  mere  avenue  to  its  Byzantine  church  and 
colossal  tower.  And  the  Ducal  Palace  itself  owes  the  peculiar 
charm  which  we  have  hitherto  felt,  not  so  much  to  its  greater 
size  as  compared  with  other  Gothic  buildings,  or  nobler  de- 
sign  (for  it  never  yet  has  been  rightly  drawn),  as  to  its  com- 
parative isolation.  The  other  Gothic  structures  are  as  much 
injured  by  the  continual  juxtaposition  of  the  Renaissance 
palaces,  as  the  latter  are  aided  by  it ;  they  exhaust  their  own 
life  by  breathing  it  into  the  Renaissance  coldness  :  but  the 
Ducal  Palace  stands  comparatively  alone,  and  fully  expresses 
the  Gothic  power. 

§  in.  And  it  is  just  that  it  should  be  so  seen,  for  it  is  the 
original  of  nearly  all  the  rest.  It  is  not  the  elaborate  and 
more  studied  developement  of  a  national  style,  but  the  great 
and  sudden  invention  of  one  man,  instantly  forming  a  national 
style,  and  becoming  the  model  for  the  imitation  of  every 
architect  in  Venice  for  upwards  of  a  century.  It  was  the  de- 
termination of  this  one  fact  which  occupied  me  the  greater 
part  of  the  time  I  spent  in  Venice.  It  had  always  appeared 
to  me  most  strange  that  there  should  be  in  no  part  of  the 
city  any  incipient  or  imperfect  types  of  the  form  of  the  Ducal 
Palace  ;  it  was  difficult  to  believe  that  so  mighty  a  building 
had  been  the  conception  of  one  man,  not  only  in  disposition 
and  detail,  but  in  style  ;  and  yet  impossible,  had  it  been 
otherwise,  but  that  some  early  examples  of  approximate 
Gothic  form  must  exist.  There  is  not  one.  The  palaces 
built  between  the  final  cessation  of  the  Byzantine  style, 
about  1300,  and  the  date  of  the  Ducal  Palace  (1320-1350), 
are  all  completely  distinct  in  character,  so  distinct  that  I 
at  first  intended  the  account  of  them  to  form  a  separate 
section  of  this  volume  ;  and  there  is  literally  no  transitional 
form  between  them  and  the  perfection  of  the  Ducal  Palace. 
Every  Gothic  building  in  Venice  which  resembles  the  latter  is 
a  copy  of  it.  I  do  not  mean  that  there  was  no  Gothic  in 
Venice  before  the  Ducal  Palace,  but  that  the  mode  of  its  ap- 
plication to  domestic  architecture  had  not  been  determined 


GOTHIC  PALACES. 


233 


The  real  root  of  the  Ducal  Palace  is  the  apse  of  the  church  of 
the  Frari.  The  traceries  of  that  apse,  though  earlier  and 
ruder  in  workmanship,  are  nearly  the  same  in  mouldings,  and 
precisely  the  same  in  treatment  (especially  in  the  placing  of 
the  lions'  heads),  as  those  of  the  great  Ducal  Arcade  ;  and 
the  originality  of  thought  in  the  architect  of  the  Ducal  Palace 
consists  in  his  having  adapted  those  traceries,  in  a  more 
highly  developed  and  finished  form,  to  civil  uses.  In  the 
apse  of  the  church  they  form  narrow  and  tall  window  lights, 
somewhat  more  massive  than  those  of  Northern  Gothic,  but 
similar  in  application  :  the  thing  to  be  done  was  to  adapt 
these  traceries  to  the  forms  of  domestic  building  necessitated 
by  national  usage.  The  early  palaces  consisted,  as  we  have 
seen,  of  arcades  sustaining  walls  faced  with  marble,  rather 
broad  and  long  than  elevated.  This  form  was  kept  for  the 
Ducal  Palace  ;  but  instead  of  round  arches  from  shaft  to  shaft, 
the  Frari  traceries  were  substituted,  with  two  essential  modi- 
fications. Besides  being 
enormously  increased  in 
scale  and  thickness,  that 
they  might  better  bear  the 
superincumbent  weight,  the 
quatrefoil,  which  in  the 
Frari  windows  is  above  the 
arch,  as  at  a,  Fig.  XXI.,  was, 
•  in  the  Ducal  Palace,  put  be-  9  & 

tween  the  arches,  as  at  b ; 

the  main  reason  for  this  alteration  being  that  the  bearing 
power  of  the  arches,  which  was  now  to  be  trusted  with  the 
weight  of  a  wall  forty  feet  high,*  was  thus  thrown  between  the 
quatrefoils,  instead  of  under  them,  and  thereby  applied  at  far 
better  advantage.  And,  in  the  second  place,  the  joints  of  the 
masonry  were  changed.  In  the  Frari  (as  often  also  in  St.  John 
and  St.  Paul's)  the  tracery  is  formed  of  two  simple  cross  bars  or 
slabs  of  stone,  pierced  into  the  requisite  forms,  and  separated 

*  38  ft.  2  in.,  without  its  cornice,  which  is  10  inches  deep,  and  sus- 
tains pinnacles  of  stone  7  feet  high.  I  was  enabled  to  get  the  measures 
by  a  scaffolding  erected  in  1851  to  repair  the  front, 


£'34 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


by  a  horizontal  joint,  just  on  a  level  with  the  lowest  cusp  of  the 
quatrefoils,  as  seen  in  Fig.  XXI.,  a.  But  at  the  Ducal  Palace 
the  horizontal  joint  is  in  the  centre  of  the 
quatrefoils,  and  two  others  are  introduced 
beneath  it  at  right  angles  to  the  run  of  the 
mouldings,  as  seen  in  Fig.  XXL,  b*  The 
Ducal  Palace  builder  was  sternly  resolute 
in  carrying  out  this  rule  of  masonry.  In 
the  traceries  of  the  large  upper  windows, 
where  the  cusps  are  cut  through  as  in  the 
quatrefoil  Fig.  XXII.,  the  lower  cusp  is  left; 
partly  solid,  as  at  a,  merely  that  the  joint  a 
b  may  have  its  right  place  and  direction. 
§  iv.  The  ascertaining  the  formation  of  the  Ducal  Palace 
traceries  from  those  of  the  Frari,  and  its  priority  to  all  other 
buildings  which  resemble  it  in  Venice,  rewarded  me  for  a 
great  deal  of  uninteresting  labor  in  the  examination  of  mould- 
ings and  other  minor  features  of  the  Gothic  palaces,  in  which 
alone  the  internal  evidence  of  their  date  was  to  be  discovered, 
there  being  no  historical  records  whatever  respecting  them. 
But  the  accumulation  of  details  on  which  the  complete  proof 
of  the  fact  depends,  could  not  either  be  brought  within  the 
compass  of  this  volume,  or  be  made  in  anywise  interesting  to 
the  general  reader.  I  shall  therefore,  without  involving  my- 
self in  any  discussion,  give  a  brief  account  of  the  develope- 
ment  of  Gothic  design  in  Venice,  as  I  believe  it  to  have  taken 
place.  I  shall  possibly  be  able  at  some  future  period  so  to 
compress  the  evidence  on  which  my  conviction  rests,  as  to 
render  it  intelligible  to  the  public,  while,  in  the  meantime, 
some  of  the  more  essential  points  of  it  are  thrown  together  in 
the  Appendix,  and  in  the  history  of  the  Ducal  Palace  given  in 
the  next  chapter. 

§  v.  According,  then,  to  the  statement  just  made,  the 
Gothic  architecture  of  Venice  is  divided  into  two  great  periods  : 
one,  in  which,  while  various  irregular  Gothic  tendencies  are 

*  I  believe  the  necessary  upper  joint  is  vertical,  through  the  upper- 
most lobe  or"  the  quatrefoil,  as  in  the  figure  ;  but  I  have  lost  my  memo- 
randum of  this  joint. 


GOTHIC  PALACES. 


235 


exhibited,  no  consistent  type  of  domestic  building  was  de- 
veloped ;  the  other,  in  which  a  formed  and  consistent  school 
of  domestic  architecture  resulted  from  the  direct  imitation  of 
the  great  design  of  the  Ducal  Palace.  We  must  deal  with 
these  two  periods  separately  ;  the  first  of  them  being  that 
which  has  been  often  above  alluded  to,  under  the  name  of  the 
transitional  period. 

We  shall  consider  in  succession  the  general  form,  the  win- 
dows, doors,  balconies,  and  parapets,  of  the  Gothic  palaces 
belonging  to  each  of  these  periods. 

§  vi.  First.    General  Form. 

We  have  seen  that  the  wrecks  of  the  Byzantine  palaces  con- 
sisted merely  of  upper  and  lower  arcades  surrounding  cortiles  ; 
the  disposition  of  the  interiors  being  now  entirely  changed, 
and  their  original  condition  untraceable.  The  entrances  to 
these  early  buildings  are,  for  the  most  part,  merely  large  cir- 
cular arches,  the  central  features  of  their  continuous  arcades : 
they  do  not  present  us  with  definitely  separated  windows  and 
doors. 

But  a  great  change  takes  place  in  the  Gothic  period. 
These  long  arcades  break,  as  it  were,  into  pieces,  and  coagu- 
late into  central  and  lateral  windows,  and  small  arched  doors, 
pierced  in  great  surfaces  of  brick  wall.  The  sea  story  of  a 
Byzantine  palace  consists  of  seven,  nine,  or  more  arches  in  a 
continuous  line  ;  but  the  sea  story  of  a  Gothic  palace  consists 
of  a  door  and  one  or  two  windows  on  each  side,  as  in  a  mod- 
ern house.  The  first  story  of  a  Byzantine  palace  consists  of, 
perhaps,  eighteen  or  twenty  arches,  reaching  from  one  side  of 
the  house  to  the  other  ;  the  first  story  of  a  Gothic  palace  con- 
sists of  a  window  of  four  or  five  lights  in  the  centre,  and  one 
or  two  single  windows  on  each  side.  The  germ,  however,  of 
the  Gothic  arrangement  is  already  found  in  the  Byzantine, 
where,  as  we  have  seen,  the  arcades,  though  continuous,  are 
always  composed  of  a  central  mass  and  two  wings  of  smaller 
arches.  The  central  group  becomes  the  door  or  the  middle 
light  of  the  Gothic  palace,  and  the  wings  break  into  its  lateral 
windows. 

§  vii,  But  the  most  essential  difference  in  the  entire  ar« 


236 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


rangement,  is  the  loss  of  the  unity  of  conception  which  regu< 
latecl  Byzantine  composition.  How  subtle  the  sense  of  grada- 
tion which  disposed  the  magnitudes  of  the  early  palaces  we 
have  seen  already,  but  I  have  not  hitherto  noticed  that  the 
Byzantine  work  was  centralized  in  its  ornamentation  as  much 
as  in  its  proportions.  Not  only  were  the  lateral  capitals  and 
archivolts  kept  comparatively  plain,  while  the  central  ones 
were  sculptured,  but  the  midmost  piece  of  sculpture,  what- 
ever it  might  be,  —  capital,  inlaid  circle,  or  architrave, — wTas 
always  made  superior  to  the  rest.  In  the  Fondaco  de'  Turchi, 
for  instance,  the  midmost  capital  of  the  upper  arcade  is  the 
key  to  the  whole  group,  larger  and  more  studied  than  all  the 
rest ;  and  the  lateral  ones  are  so  disposed  as  to  answer  each 
other  on  the  opposite  sides,  thus,  a  being  put  for  the  central  one, 

FEBCACBEF, 

a  sudden  break  of  the  system  being  admitted  in  one  unique 
capital  at  the  extremity  of  the  series. 

§  viii.  Now,  long  after  the  Byzantine  arcades  had  been  con- 
tracted into  windows,  this  system  of  centralization  was  more 
or  less  maintained  ;  and  in  all  the  early  groups  of  windows  of 
five  lights  the  midmost  capital  is  different  from  the  two  on 
each  side  of  it,  which  always  correspond.  So  strictly  is  this 
the  case,  that  whenever  the  capitals  of  any  group  of  windows 
are  not  centralized  in  this  manner,  but  are  either  entirely  like 
each  other,  or  all  different,  so  as  to  show  no  correspondence, 
it  is  a  certain  proof,  even  if  no  other  should  exist,  of  the  com- 
parative lateness  of  the  building. 

In  every  group  of  windows  in  Venice  which  I  was  able  to 
examine,  and  which  were  centralized  in  this  manner,  I  found 
evidence  in  their  mouldings  of  their  being  anterior  to  the 
Ducal  Palace.  That  palace  did  away  with  the  subtle  propor- 
tion and  centralization  of  the  Byzantine.  Its  arches  are  of 
equal  width,  and  its  capitals  are  all  different  and  ungrouped ; 
some,  indeed,  are  larger  than  the  rest,  but  this  is  not  for  the 
sake  of  proportion,  only  for  particular  service  when  more 
weight  is  to  be  borne.    But,  among  other  evidences  of  the 


GOTHIC  PALACES. 


237 


early  date  of  the  sea  fa9acle  of  that  building,  is  one  subtle  and 
delicate  concession  to  the  system  of  centralization  which  is 
finally  closed.  The  capitals  of  the  upper  arcade  are,  as  I  said, 
all  different,  and  show  no  arranged  correspondence  with  each 
other  ;  but  the  central  one  is  of  pure  Parian  marble,  while  all 
the  others  are  of  Istrian  stone. 

The  bold  decoration  of  the  central  window  and  balcony 
above,  in  the  Ducal  Palace,  is  only  a  peculiar  expression  of 
the  principality  of  the  central  window,  which  was  character- 
istic of  the  Gothic  period  not  less  than  of  the  Byzantine.  In 
the  private  palaces  the  central  windows  become  of  impor- 
tance by  their  number  of  lights  ;  in  the  Ducal  Palace  such  an 
arrangement  was,  for  various  reasons,  inconvenient,  and  the 
central  window>  which,  so  far  from  being  more  important 
than  the  others,  is  every  way  inferior  in  design  to  the  two  at 
the  eastern  extremity  of  the  facade,  was  nevertheless  made 
the  leading  feature  by  its  noble  canopy  and  balcony. 

§  ix.  Such  being  the  principal  differences  in  the  general 
conception  of  the  Byzantine  and  Gothic  palaces,  the  particu- 
lars in  the  treatment  of  the  latter  are  easily  stated.  The  mar- 
ble facings  are  gradually  removed  from  the  walls  ;  and  the 
bare  brick  either  stands  forth  confessed  boldly,  contrasted 
with  the  marble  shafts  and  archivolts  of  the  windows,  or  it  is 
covered  with  stucco  painted  in  fresco,  of  which  more  here- 
after. The  Ducal  Palace,  as  in  all  other  respects,  is  an  exact 
expression  of  the  middle  point  in  the  change.  It  still  retains 
marble  facing  ;  but  instead  of  being  disposed  in  slabs  as  in 
the  Byzantine  times,  it  is  applied  in  solid  bricks  or  blocks  of 
marble,        inches  long,  by  6  inches  high. 

The  stories  of  the  Gothic  palaces  are  divided  by  string 
courses,  considerably  bolder  in  projection  than  those  of  the 
Byzantines,  and  more  highly  decorated  ;  and  while  the  angles 
of  the  Byzantine  palaces  are  quite  sharp  and  pure,  those  of 
the  Gothic  palaces  are  wrought  into  a  chamfer,  filled  by  small 
twisted  shafts  which  have  capitals  under  the  cornice  of  each 
?tory. 

§  x.  These  capitals  are  little  observed  in  the  general  effect, 
but  the  shafts  are  of  essential  importance  in  giving  an  aspect 


238 


the  stones  of  Venice. 


of  firmness  to  the  angle  ;  a  point  of  peculiar  necessity  in  Ven- 
ice, where,  owing  to  the  various  convolutions  of  the  canals, 
the  angles  of  the  palaces  are  not  only  frequent,  but  often  nec- 
essarily acute,  every  inch  of  ground  being  valuable.  In  other 
cities,  the  appearance  as  well  as  the  assurance  of  stability  can 
always  be  secured  by  the  use  of  massy  stones,  as  in  the  fort- 
ress palaces  of  Florence  ;  but  it  must  have  been  always  de- 
sirable at  Venice  to  build  as  lightly  as  possible,  in  conse- 
quence of  the  comparative  insecurity  of  the  foundations. 
The  early  palaces  were,  as  we  have  seen,  perfect  models  of 
grace  and  lightness,  and  the  Gothic,  which  followed,  though 
much  more  massive  in  the  style  of  its  details,  never  admitted 
more  weight  into  its  structure  than  was  absolutely  necessary 
for  its  strength.  Hence,  every  Gothic  palace  has  the  appear- 
ance of  enclosing  as  many  rooms,  and  attaining  as  much 
strength,  as  is  possible,  with  a  minimum  quantity  of  brick 
and  stone.  The  traceries  of  the  windows,  which  in  Northern 
Gothic  only  support  the  glass,  at  Venice  support  the  building  ; 
and  tlms  the  greater  ponderousness  of  the  traceries  is  only  an 
indication  of  the  greater  lightness  of  the  structure.  Hence, 
when  the  Kenaissance  architects  give  their  opinions  as  to  the 
stability  of  the  Ducal  Palace  when  injured  by  fire,  one  of 
them,  Christofore  Sorte,  says,  that  he  thinks  it  by  no  means 
laudable  that  the  "  Serenissimo  Dominio  "  of  the  Venetian 
senate  "  should  live  in  a  palace  built  in  the  air."  *  And 
again,  Andrea  della  Vaile  says,  that  \  (i  the  wall  of  the  saloon 
is  thicker  by  fifteen  inches  than  the  shafts  below  it,  projecting 
nine  inches  within,  and  six  without,  standing  as  if  in  the  air, 
above  the  piazza  ;  J  and  yet  this  wall  is  so  nobly  and  strongly 
knit  together,  that  Eusconi,  though  himself  altogether  de- 
voted to  the  Renaissance  school,  declares  that  the  fire  which 

*  6t  Dice,  che  non  lauda  per  alcun  modo  di  metter  qnesto  Serenissimo 
Dominio  in  tanto  pericolo  d'  habitar  un  palazzo  fabricato  in  aria." — 
Pareri  di  X  V.  AvcliiU  tti,  con  illuslrazioni  delV  Abhate  Giuseppe  Cadorin 
(Venice,  1838),  p.  104. 

f  "II  muro  della  sala  e  piu  grosso  delle  colonne  sott'  esso  piedi  uno  e 
cnze  tre,  et  posto  in  modo  che  onze  sei  sea  come  in  aere  sopra  la  piazza, 
et  onze  nove  deiitro."—/V/'m  di  XV.  Architetti,  p.  47. 

\  Compare  "Seven  Lamps,"  chap.  iii.  §  7. 


GOTHIC  PALACES. 


239 


had  destroyed  the  whole  interior  of  the  palace  had  done  this 
wall  no  more  harm  than  the  bite  of  a  fly  to  an  elephant 
"Troveremo  die  el  danno  che  ha  patito  queste  muraglie  sara 
conforme  alia  beccatura  d'  una  mosca  fatta  ad  un  elefante."* 

§  xi.  And  so  in  all  the  other  palaces  built  at  the  time,  con- 
summate strength  was  joined  with  a  lightness  of  form  and 
sparingness  of  material  which  rendered  it  eminently  desirable 
that  the  eye  should  be  convinced,  by  every  possible  expedient, 
of  the  stability  of  the  building  ;  and  these  twisted  pillars  at 
the  angles  are  not  among  the  least  important  means  adopted 
for  this  purpose,  for  they  seem  to  bind  the  walls  together  as  a 
cable  binds  a  chest.  In  the  Ducal  Palace,  where  they  are 
carried  up  the  angle  of  an  unbroken  wall  forty  feet  high,  they 
are  divided  into  portions,  gradually  diminishing  in  length 
towards  the  top,  by  circular  bands  or  rings,  set  with  the  nail- 
head  or  dog-tooth  ornament,  vigorously  projecting,  and  giving 
the  column  nearly  the  aspect  of  the  stalk  of  a  reed  ;  its  dimin- 
ishing proportions  being  exactly  arranged  as  they  are  by 
Nature  in  all  jointed  plants.  At  the  top  of  the  palacs,  like 
the  wheat-stalk  branching  into  the  ear  of  corn,  it  expands 
into  a  small  niche  writh  a  pointed  canopy,  wrhich  joins  with  the 
fantastic  parapet  in  at  once  relieving,  and  yet  making  more 
notable  by  its  contrast,  the  weight  of  massy  wall  below.  The 
arrangement  is  seen  in  the  woodcut,  Chap.  VIII.  ;  the  angle 
shafts  being  slightly  exaggerated  in  thickness,  together  with 
their  joints,  as  otherwise  they  wrould  hardly  have  been  intel- 
ligible on  so  small  a  scale. 

The  Ducal  Palace  is  peculiar  in  these  niches  at  the  angles, 
which  throughout  the  rest  of  the  city  appear  on  churches 
only  ;  but  some  may  perhaps  have  been  removed  by  restora- 
tions, together  with  the  parapets  with  which  they  were  associ- 
ated. 

§  xii.  Of  these  roof  parapets  of  Venice,  it  has  been  already 
noticed  that  the  examples  which  remain  differ  from  those  of 
all  other  cities  of  Italy  in  their  purely  ornamental  character. 
(Chap.  I.  §  xii.  )  They  are  not  battlements,  properly  so-called  ; 
still  less  machicolated  cornices,  such  as  crown  the  fortress 
*  Pareri,  p.  21;  before  quoted. 

^ 


240  THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


palaces  of  the  great  mainland  nobles  ;  but  merely  adaptations 
of  the  light  and  crown-like  ornaments  which  crest  the  walls  of 
the  Arabian  mosque.  Nor  are  even  these  generally  used  on 
the  main  walls  of  the  palaces  themselves.  They  occur  on  the 
Ducal  Palace,  on  the  Casa  d'  Oro,  and,  some  years  back,  were 
still  standing  on  the  Fondaco  de'  Turchi ;  but  the  majority  of 
the  Gothic  Palaces  have  the  plain  dog-tooth  cornice  under  the 
tiled  projecting  roof  (Vol.  I.  Chap.  XIV.  §  rv.) ;  and  the 
highly  decorated  parapet  is  employed  only  on  the  tops  of  walls 
which  surround  courts  or  gardens,  and  which,  without  such 
decoration,  would  have  been  utterly  devoid  of  interest.  Fig. 


Fig.  XXIII. 


XXIII.  represents,  at  b,  part  of  a  parapet  of  this  kind  which 
surrounds  the  court-yard  of  a  palace  in  the  Calle  del  Bagatin, 
between  San  G.  Grisostomo,  and  San  Canzian  :  the  whole  is 
of  brick,  and  the  mouldings  peculiarly  sharp  and  varied  ;  the 
height  of  each  separate  pinnacle  being  about  four  feet,  crown- 
ing a  wall  twelve  or  fifteen  feet  high  :  a  piece  of  the  moulding 
which  surrounds  the  quatrefoil  is  given  larger  in  the  figure  at 
a,  together  with  the  top  of  the  small  arch  below,  having  the 
common  Venetian  dentil  round  it,  and  a  delicate  little  mould- 
ing with  dog-tooth  ornament  to  carry  the  flanks  of  the  arch. 
The  moulding  of  the  brick  is  throughout  sharp  and  beautiful 
in  the  highest  degree.  One  of  the  most  curious  points  about 
it  is  the  careless  way  in  which  the  curved  outlines  of  the  pin- 


GOTHIC  PALACES. 


241 


nacles  are  cut  into  the  plain  brickwork,  with  no  regard  what- 
ever to  the  places  of  its  joints.  The  weather  of  course  wears 
the  bricks  at  the  exposed  joints,  and  jags  the  outline  a  little  ; 
but  the  work  has  stood,  evidently  from  the  fourteenth  century3 
without  sustaining  much  harm. 

§  xiii.  This  parapet  may  be  taken  as  a  general  type  of  the 
wa/Z-parapet  of  Venice  in  the  Gothic  period  ;  somo  being  much 
less  decorated,  and  others  much  more  richly  :  the  most  beau- 
tiful in  Venice  is  in  the  little  Calle,  opening  on  the  Campo  and 
Traghetto  San  Samuele  ;  it  has  delicately  carved  devices  in 
stone  let  into  each  pinnacle. 

The  parapets  of  the  palaces  themselves  were  lighter  and 
more  fantastic,  consisting  of  narrow  lance-like  spires  of  marble, 
set  between  the  broader  pinnacles,  which  were  in  such  cases 
generally  carved  into  the  form  of  a  fleur-de-lis :  the  French 
word  gives  the  reader  the  best  idea  of  the  form,  though  he 
must  remember  that  this  use  of  the  lily  for  the  parapets  has 
nothing  to  do  with  France,  but  is  the  carrying  out  of  the 
Byzantine  system  of  floral  ornamentation,  which  introduced 
the  outline  of  the  lily  everywhere  ;  so  that  I  have  found  it 
convenient  to  call  its  most  beautiful  capitals,  the  lily  capitals 
of  St.  Mark's.  But  the  occurrence  of  this  flower,  more  dis- 
tinctly than  usual,  on  the  battlements  of  the  Ducal  Palace, 
was  the  cause  of  some  curious  political  speculation  in  the  year 
1511,  when  a  piece  of  one  of  these  battlements  was  shaken 
down  by  the  great  earthquake  of  that  year.  Sanuto  notes  in 
his  diary  that  "  the  piece  that  fell  was  just  that  which  bore 
the  lily,"  and  records  sundry  sinister  anticipations,  founded 
on  this  important  omen,  of  impending  danger  to  the  adverse 
French  power.  As  there  happens,  in  the  Ducal  PalaJe,  to  be 
a  joint  in  the  pinnacles  which  exactly  separates  the  "  part 
which  bears  the  lily  "  from  that  which  is  fastened  to  the  cor- 
nice, it  is  no  wonder  that  the  omen  proved  fallacious. 

§  xiv.  The  decorations  of  the  parapet  were  completed  by 
attaching  gilded  balls  of  metal  to  the  extremities  of  the  leaves 
of  the  lilies,  and  of  the  intermediate  spires,  so  as  literally  to 
form  for  the  wall  a  diadem  of  silver  touched  upon  the  points 
with  gold  ;  the  image  being  rendered  still  more  distinct  in  the 
Vol.  II. -16. 


242 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


Casa  dt  Oro,  by  variation  in  the  height  of  the  pinnacles,  the 
highest  being  in  the  centre  of  the  front. 

Very  few  of  these  light  roof  parapets  now  remain  ;  they  are, 
of  course,  the  part  of  the  building  which  dilapidation  first 
renders  it  necessary  to  remove.  That  of  the  Ducal  Palace, 
however,  though  often,  I  doubt  not;  restored,  retains  much  of 
the  ancient  form,  and  is  exceedingly  beautiful,  though  it  has 
no  appearance  from  below  of  being  intended  for  protection, 
but  serves  only,  by  its  extreme  lightness,  to  relieve  the  eye 
when  wearied  by  the  breadth  of  wall  beneath  ;  it  is  neverthe- 
less a  most  serviceable  defence  for  any  person  walking  along 
the  edge  of  the  roof.  It  has  some  appearance  of  insecurity, 
owing  to  the  entire  independence  of  the  pieces  of  stone  com- 
posing it,  which,  though  of  course  fastened  by  iron,  look  as  if 
they  stood  balanced  on  the  cornice  like  the  pillars  of  Stone- 
henge  ;  but  I  have  never  heard  of  its  having  been  disturbed 
by  anything  short  of  an  earthquake  ;  and,  as  we  have  seen, 
even  the  great  earthquake  of  1511,  though  it  much  injured 
the  Gorne,  or  battlements  at  the  Casa  d'Oro,  and  threw  down 
several  statues  at  St.  Mark's/'  only  shook  one  lily  from  the 
brow  of  the  Ducal  Palace. 

§  xv.  Although,  however,  these  light  and  fantastic  forms 
appear  to  have  been  universal  in  the  battlements  meant  pri- 
marily for  decoration,  there  was  another  condition  of  parapet 
altogether  constructed  for  the  protection  of  persons  walking 
on  the  roofs  or  in  the  galleries  of  the  churches,  and  from 
these  more  substantial  and  simple  defences,  the  Balconies,  to 

*  It  is  a  curious  proof  how  completely,  even  so  early  as  the  beginning 
of  the  sixteenth  century,  the  Venetians  had  lost  the  habit  of  reading  the 
religious  art  of  their  ancient  churches,  that  Sanuto,  describing  this  in- 
jury, says,  that  "  four  of  the  Kings  in  marble  fell  from  their  pinnacles 
above  the  front,  at  St.  Mark's  church  ; "  and  presently  afterwards  cor- 
rects his  mistake,  and  apologises  for  it  thus:  "  These  were  four  saints, 
St.  Constantine,  St.  Demetrius,  St.  George,  and  St.  Theodore,  all  Greek 
saints.  They  look  like  Kings."  Observe  the  perfect,  because  uninten- 
tional, praise  given  to  the  old  sculptor. 

I  quote  the  passage  from  the  translation  of  these  precious  diaries  of 
Sanuto,  by  my  friend  Mr.  Rawdon  Brown,  a  translation  which  I  hope 
will  some  day  become  a  standard  book  in  English  libraries. 


GOTHIC  PALACES. 


243 


which  the  Gothic  palaces  owe  half  of  their  picturesque  effect, 
were  immediately  derived  ;  the  balcony  being,  in  fact,  nothing 
more  than  a  portion  of  such  roof  parapets  arranged  round 
a  projecting  window-sill  sustained  on  brackets,  as  in  the  cen- 
tral example  of  the  annexed  figure.  We  must,  therefore, 
examine  these  defensive  balustrades  and  the  derivative  bal- 
conies consecutively. 

§  xvi.  Obviously,  a  parapet  with  an  unbroken  edge,  upon 
which  the  arm  may  rest  (a  con- 
dition above  noticed,  Vol.  I.  p. 
166,  as  essential  to  the  proper 
performance  of  its  duty),  can  be 
constructed  only  in  one  of  three 
ways.  It  must  either  be  (1)  of  ! 
solid  stone,  decorated,  if  at  all, 
by  mere  surface  sculpture,  as  in 
the  uppermost  example  in  Fig. 
XXIV. ;  or  (2)  pierced  into  some 
kind  of  tracery,  as  in  the  second; 
or  (3)  composed  of  small  pillars 
carrying  a  level  bar  of  stone,  as 
in  the  third  ;  this  last  condition 
being,  in  a  diseased  and  swollen 
form,  familiar  to  us  in  the  balus- 
trades of  our  bridges.* 

§  xvii.  (1.)  Of  these  three 
kinds,  the  first,  which  is  em- 
ployed for  the  pulpit  at  Torcello 
and  in  the  nave  of  St.  Mark's, 
whence  the  uppermost  example  is  taken,  is  beautiful  when 
sculpture  so  rich  can  be  employed  upon  it ;  but  it  is  liable  to 
objection,  first,  because  it  is  heavy  and  unlike  a  parapet  when 
seen  from  below  ;  and,  secondly,  because  it  is  inconvenient  in 
use.  The  position  of  leaning  over  a  balcony  becomes  cramped 
and  painful  if  long  continued,  unless  the  foot  can  be  some- 
times advai/ed  beneath  the  ledge  on  which  the  arm  leans,  i.e. 
between  the  balusters  or  traceries,  which  of  course  cannot  be 
*  I  am  not  speaking  here  of  iron  balconies.    See  below,  §  xxn. 


Fig.  XXIV. 


244 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


done  in  the  solid  parapet :  it  is  also  more  agreeable  to  be  ablfl 
to  see  partially  down  through  the  penetrations,  than  to  be 
obliged  to  lean  far  over  the  edge.  The  solid  parapet  was 
rarely  used  in  Venice  after  the  earlier  ages. 

§  xvni.  (2.)  The  Traceried  Parapet  is  chiefly  used  in  the 
Gothic  of  the  North,  from  which  the  above  example,  in  the 
Casa  Contarini  Fasan,  is  directly  derived.  It  is,  when  wTell 
designed,  the  richest  and  most  beautiful  of  all  forms,  and 
many  of  the  best  buildings  of  France  and  Germany  are  de- 
pendent for  half  their  effect  upon  it  ;  its  only  fault  being  a 
slight  tendency  to  fantasticism.  It  was  never  frankly  received 
in  Venice,  where  the  architects  had  unfortunately  returned  to 
the  Renaissance  forms  before  the  flamboyant  parapets  were 
fully  developed  in  the  North  ;  but,  in  the  early  stage  of  the 
Renaissance,  a  kind  of  pierced  parapet  was  employed,  founded 
on  the  old  Byzantine  interwoven  traceries  ;  that  is  to  say,  the 
Blab  of  stone  was  pierced  here  and  there  with  holes,  and  then 
an  interwoven  pattern  traced  on  the  surface  round  them.  The 

difference  in  system  will  be  under- 
stood in  a  moment  by  comparing 
the  uppermost  example  in  the  fig- 
ure at  the  side,  which  is  a  Northern 
parapet  from  the  Cathedral  of 
Abbeville,  with  the  lowest,  from  a 
secret  chamber  in  the  CasaFoscari. 
It  will  be  seen  that  the  Venetian 
one  is  far  more  simple  and  severe, 
yet  singularly  piquant,  the  black 
penetrations  telling  sharply  on  the 
plain  broad  surface.  Far  inferior 
in  beauty,  it  has  yet  one  point  of 
superiority  to  that  of  Abbeville, 
that  it  proclaims  itself  more  defi- 
nitely to  be  stone.  The  other  has 
rather  the  look  of  lace. 
The  intermediate  figure  is  a  panel  of  the  main  balcony  of 
the  Ducal  Palace,  and  is  introduced  here  as  being  an  exactly 
transitional  condition  between  the  Northern  and  Venetian 


GOTHIC  PALACES, 


245 


types.  It  was  built  when  the  German  Gothic  workmen  were 
exercising  considerable  influence  over  those  in  Venice,  and 
there  was  some  chance  of  the  Northern  parapet  introducing 
itself.  It  actually  did  so,  as  above  shown,  in  the  Casa  Conta- 
rini  Fasan,  but  was  for  the  most  part  stoutly  resisted  and  kept 
at  bay  by  the  Byzantine  form,  the  lowest  in  the  last  figure, 
until  that  form  itself  was  displaced  by  the  common,  vulgar. 
Renaissance  baluster  ;  a  grievous  loss,  for  the  severe  pierced 
type  was  capable  of  a  variety  as  endless  as  the  fantasticism  of 
our  own  Anglo-Saxon  manuscript  ornamentation. 

§  xix.  (3.)  The  Baluster  Parapet.  Long  before  the  idea  of 
tracery  had  suggested  itself  to  the  minds  either  of  Venetian 
or  any  other  architects,  it  had,  of  course,  been  necessary  to 
provide  protection  for  galleries,  edges  of  roofs,  &c.  ;  and  the 
most  natural  form  in  which  such  protection  could  be  obtained 
was  that  of  a  horizontal  bar  or  hand-rail,  sustained  upon  short 
shafts  or  balusters,  as  in  Fig.  XXIV.  p.  243.  This  form  was, 
above  ail  others,  likely  to  be  adopted  where  variations  of 
Greek  or  Roman  pillared  architecture  were  universal  in  the 
larger  masses  of  the  building  ;  the  parapet  became  itself  a 
small  series  of  columns,  with  capitals  and  architraves  ;  and 
whether  the  cross-bar  laid  upon  them  should  be  simply  hori- 
zontal, and  in  contact  with  their  capitals,  or  sustained  by 
mimic  arches,  round  or  pointed,  depended  entirely  on  the 
system  adopted  in  the  rest  of  the  work.  Where  the  large 
arches  were  round,  the  small  balustrade  arches  would  be  so 
likewise  ;  where  those  wrere  pointed,  these  would  become  so 
in  sympathy  with  them. 

§  xx.  Unfortunately,  wherever  a  balcony  or  parapet  is  used 
in  an  inhabited  house,  it  is,  of  course,  the  part  of  the  structure 
which  first  suffers  from  dilapidation,  as  well  as  that  of  which 
the  security  is  most  anxiously  cared  for.  The  main  pillars  of 
a  casement  may  stand  for  centuries  unshaken  under  the  steady 
weight  of  the  superincumbent  wall,  but  the  cement  and  vari- 
ous insetting  of  the  balconies  are  sure  to  be  disturbed  by  the 
irregular  pressures  and  impulses  of  the  persons  leaning  on 
them  ;  while,  whatever  extremity  of  decay  may  be  allowed  in 
other  parts  .of  the  building,  the  balcony,  as  soon  as  it  seems 


240 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


dangerous,  will  assuredly  be  removed  or  restored.  The  readei 
will  not,  if  he  considers  this,  be  surprised  to  hear  that,  among 
all  the  remnants  of  the  Venetian  domestic  architecture  of  the 
eleventh,  twelfth,  and  thirteenth  centuries,  there  is  not  a  single 
instance  of  the  original  balconies  being  preserved.  The  palace 
mentioned  below  (§  xxxn.),  in  the  piazza  of  the  Rialto,  has, 
indeed,  solid  slabs  of  stone  between  its  shafts,  but  I  cannot  be 
certain  that  they  are  of  the  same  period  ;  if  they  are,  this  is 
the  only  existing  example  of  the  form  of  protection  employed 
for  casements  during  this  transitional  period,  and  it  cannot  be 
reasoned  from  as  being  the  general  one. 

§  xxi.  It  is  only,  therefore,  in  the  churches  of  Torcelio, 
Murano,  and  St.  Mark's,  that  the  ancient  forms  of  gallery  de- 
fence may  still  be  seen.  At  Murano,  between  the  pillars  of 
the  apse,  a  beautiful  balustrade  is  employed,  of  which  a  single 
arch  is  given  in  the  Plate  opposite,  fig.  4,  with  its  section,  fig. 
5.  ;  and  at  St.  Mark's,  a  noble  round-arched  parapet,  with 
small  pillars  of  precisely  the  same  form  as  those  of  Murano, 
but  shorter,  and  bound  at  the  angles  into  groups  of  four  by 
the  serpentine  knot  so  often  occurring  in  Lombardic  work, 
runs  round  the  whole  exterior  of  the  lower  story  of  the  church, 
and  round  great  part  of  its  interior  galleries,  alternating  with 
the  more  fantastic  form,  fig.  6.  In  domestic  architecture,  the 
remains  of  the  original  balconies  begin  to  occur  first  in  the 
beginning  of  the  fourteenth  century,  when  the  round  arch  had 
entirely  disappeared  ;  and  the  parapet  consists,  almost  with- 
out exception,  of  a  series  of  small  trefoiled  arches,  cut  boldly 
through  a  bar  of  stone  which  rests  upon  the  shafts,  at  first 
very  simple,  and  generally  adorned  with  a  cross  at  the  point 
of  each  arch,  as  in  fig.  7  in  the  last  Plate,  which  gives  the 
angle  of  such  a  balcony  on  a  large  scale  ;  but  soon  enriched 
into  the  beautiful  conditions,  figs.  2  and  3,  and  sustained  on 
brackets  formed  of  lions'  heads,  as  seen  in  the  central  example 
of  their  entire  effect,  fig,  1. 

§  xxn.  In  later  periods,  the  round  arches  return  ;  then  the 
interwoven  Byzantine  form  ;  and  finally,  as  above  noticed,  the 
common  English  or  classical  balustrade  ;  of  which,  however, 
exquisite  examples,  for  grace  and  variety  of  outline,  are  found 


GOTHIC  PALACES. 


247 


designed  in  the  backgrounds  of  Paul  Veronese.  I  could 
willingly  follow  out  this  subject  fully,  but  it  is  impossible  to 
clo  so  without  leaving  Venice  ;  for  the  chief  city  of  Italy,  as 
far  as  regards  the  strict  effect  of  the  balcony,  is  Verona ;  and 
if  we  were  once  to  lose  ourselves  among  the  sweet  shadows 
of  its  lonely  streets,  where  the  falling  branches  of  the  flowers 
stream  like  fountains  through  the  pierced  traceries  of  the  mar- 
ble, there  is  no  saying  whether  we  might  soon  be  able  to  re- 
turn to  our  immediate  work.  Yet  before  leaving  the  subject 
of  the  balcony  *  altogether,  I  must  allude,  for  a  moment,  to 
the  peculiar  treatment  of  the  iron-work  out  of  which  it  is 
frequently  wrought  on  the  mainland  of  Italy — never  in  Ven- 
ice. The  iron  is  always  wrought,  not  cast,  beaten  first  into 
thin  leaves,  and  then  cut  either  into  strips  or  bands,  two  or 
three  inches  broad,  which  are  bent  into  various  curves  to  form 
the  sides  of  the  balcony,  or  else  into  actual  leafage,  sweeping 
and  free,  like  the  leaves  of  nature,  with  which  it  is  richly  dec- 
orated. There  is  no  end  to  the  variety  of  design,  no  limit  to 
the  lightness  and  flow  of  the  forms,  which  the  workman  can 
produce  out  of  iron  treated  in  this  manner  ;  and  it  is  very 
nearly  as  impossible  for  any  metal-work,  so  handled,  to  be 
poor,  or  ignoble  in  effect,  as  it  is  for  cast  metal-work  to  be 
otherwise. 

§  xxm.  We  have  next  to  examine  those  features  of  the 
Gothic  palaces  in  which  the  transitions  of  their  architecture 
are  most  distinctly  traceable  ;  namely,  the  arches  of  the  win- 
dows and  doors. 

It  has  already  been  repeatedly  stated,  that  the  Gothic  style 
had  formed  itself  completely  on  the  mainland,  while  the 
Byzantines  still  retained  their  influence  at  Venice  ;  and  that 
the  history  of  early  Venetian  Gothic  is  therefore  not  that  of 
a  school  taking  new  forms  independently  of  external  influence, 
but  the  history  of  the  struggle  of  the  Byzantine  manner  with 
a  contemporary  style  quite  as  perfectly  organized  as  itself,  and 
far  more  energetic.  And  this  struggle  is  exhibited  partly  m 
the  gradual  change  of  the  Byzantine  architecture  into  other 

*  Some  details  respecting  the  mechanical  structure  of  the  Venetian 
balcony  are  given  in  the  final  Appendix. 


24S 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


forms,  and  partly  by  isolated  examples  of  genuine  Gothic 
taken  prisoner,  as  it  were,  in  the  contest  ;  or  rather  entangled 
among  the  enemy's  forces,  and  maintaining  their  ground  till 
their  friends  came  up  to  sustain  them.  Let  us  first  follow  the 
steps  of  the  gradual  change,  and  then  give  some  brief  account 
of  the  various  advanced  guards  and  forlorn  hopes  of  the 
Gothic  attacking  force. 

§  xxiv.  The  uppermost  shaded  series  of  six  forms  of  win- 
dows in  Plate  XXV.,  opposite,  represents,  at  a  glance,  the  modi- 
fications of  this  feature  in  Venetian  palaces,  from  the  eleventh 
to  the  fifteenth  century.  Fig.  1  is  Byzantine,  of  the  eleventh 
and  twelfth  centuries  ;  figs.  2  and  3  transitional,  of  the  thir- 
teenth and  early  fourteenth  centuries  ;  figs.  4  and  5  pure 
Gothic  of  the  thirteenth,  fourteenth  and  early  fifteenth  ;  ail; 
fig.  6  late  Gothic,  of  the  fifteenth  century,  distinguished  b 
its  added  finial.  Fig.  4  is  the  longest-lived  of  all  these  forms  . 
it  occurs  first  in  the  thirteenth  century  ;  and,  sustaining  modi- 
fications only  in  its  mouldings,  is  found  also  in  the  middle  of 
the  fifteenth. 

I  shall  call  these  the  six  orders  *  of  Venetian  windows,  and 
when  I  speak  of  a  window  of  the  fourth,  second,  or  sixth 
order,  the  reader  will  only  have  to  refer  to  the  numerals  at  the 
top  of  Plate  XIV. 

Then  the  series  below  shows  the  principal  forms  found  in 
each  period,  belonging  to  each  several  order  ;  except  1  b  to  1 
c,  and  the  two  lower  series,  numbered  7  to  16,  which  are  types 
of  Venetian  doors. 

*  I  found  it  convenient  in  my  own  memoranda  to  express  them  simply 
as  fourths,  seconds,  &c.  But  *•  order"  is  an  excellent  word  for  any 
known  group  of  forms,  whether  of  windows,  capitals,  bases,  mouldings, 
or  any  other  architectural  feature,  provided  always  that  it  be  not  under- 
stood in  any  wise  to  imply  peeminence  or  isolation  in  these  groups. 
Thus  I  may  rationally  speak  or  the  six  orders  of  Venetian  windows,  pro- 
vided I  am  ready  to  allow  a  French  architect  to  speak  of  the  six  or 
seven,  or  eight,  or  seventy  or  eighty,  orders  of  Norman  windows,  if  so 
many  are  distinguishable  ;  and  so  also  we  may  rationally  speak,  for  the 
sake  or  intelligibility,  of  the  five  orders  of  Greek  pillars,  provided  only 
we  understand  that  there  may  be  five  millions  of  orders  as  good  or  bet* 
ter,  of  pillars  not  Greek. 


GOTHIC  PALACES. 


249 


§  xxv.  We  shall  now  be  able,  without  any  difficulty,  to  fol- 
low the  course  of  transition,  beginning  with  the  first  order, 
1  and  1  a,  in  the  second  row.  The  horse-shoe  arch,  1  b,  is  the 
door-head  commonly  associated  with  it,  and  the  other  three  in 
the  same  row  occur  in  St.  Mark's  exclusively  ;  1  c  being  used 
in  the  nave,  in  order  to  give  a  greater  appearance  of  lightness 
to  its  great  lateral  arcades,  which  at  first  the  spectator  sup- 
poses to  be  round-arched,  but  he  is  struck  by  a  peculiar  grace 
and  elasticity  in  the  curves  for  which  he  is  unable  to  account, 
until  he  ascends  into  the  galleries  whence  the  true  form  of 
the  arch  is  discernible.  The  other  two — 1  d,  from  the  door  of 
the  southern  transept,  and  1  c,  from  that  of  the  treasury, — 
sufficiently  represent  a  group  of  fantastic  forms  derived  from 
the  Arabs,  and  of  which  the  exquisite  decoration  is  one  of  the 
most  important  features  in  St.  Mark's.  Their  form  is  indeed 
permitted  merely  to  obtain  more  fantasy  in  the  curves  of  this 
decoration.*  The  reader  can  see  in  a  moment,  that,  as  pieces 
of  masonry,  or  bearing  arches,  they  are  infirm  or  useless,  and 
therefore  never  could  be  employed  in  any  building  in  which 
dignity  of  structure  was  the  primal  object.  It  is  just  because 
structure  is  not  the  primal  object  in  St.  Mark's,  because  it  has 
no  severe  weights  to  bear,  and  much  loveliness  of  marble  and 
sculpture  to  exhibit,  that  they  are  therein  allowable.  They 
are  of  course,  like  the  rest  of  the  building,  built  of  brick  and 
faced  with  marble,  and  their  inner  masonry,  which  must  be 
very  ingenious,  is  therefore  not  discernible.  They  have  set- 
tled a  little,  as  might  have  been  expected,  and  the  consequence 
is,  that  there  is  in  every  one  of  them,  except  the  upright  arch 
of  the  treasury,  a  small  fissure  across  the  marble  of  the  flanks. 

§  xxvi,  Though,  however,  the  Venetian  builders  adopted 
these  Arabian  forms  of  arch  where  grace  of  ornamentation 
was  their  only  purpose,  they  saw  that  such  arrangements  were 
unfit  for  ordinary  work  ;  and  there  is  no  instance,  I  believe,  in 
Venice,  of  their  having  used  any  of  them  for  a  dwelling-house 
in  the  truly  Byzantine  period.  But  so  soon  as  the  Gothic  in- 
fluence began  to  be  felt,  and  the  pointed  arch  forced  itself 

*  Or  in  their  own  curves  ;  as,  on  a  small  scale,  in  the  balustrade  fig. 
6,  Plate  XIII.,  above. 


250 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


upon  them,  their  first  concession  to  its  attack  was  the  aclop* 
tion,  in  preference  to  the  round  arch,  of  the  form  3  a  (Plata 
XIV.,  above)  ;  the  point  of  the  Gothic  arch  forcing  itself  np, 
as  it  were,  through  the  top  of  the  semicircle  which  it  was  soon 
to  supersede. 

§  xxvu.  The  woodcut,  Fig.  XXVI,  represents  the  door  and 
two  of  the  lateral  windows  of  a  house  in  the  Oorte  del 
Eemer,  facing  the  Grand  Canal,  in  the  parish  of  the  Apos- 
toli.  It  is  remarkable  as  having  its  great  entrance  on  the  first 
floor,  attained  by  a  bold  flight  of  steps,  sustained  on  pure 
pointed  arches  wrought  in  brick.    I  cannot  tell  if  these  arches 


Fig.  xxvi. 


are  contemporary  with  the  building,  though  it  must  always 
have  had  an  access  of  the  kind.  The  rest  of  its  aspect  is 
Byzantine,  except  only  that  the  rich  sculptures  of  its  archivolt 
show  in  combats  of  animals,  beneath  the  soffit,  a  beginning  of 
the  Gothic  fire  and  energy.  The  moulding  of  its  plinth  is  of 
a  Gothic  profile,*  and  the  windows  are  pointed,  not  with  a  re- 
versed curve,  but  in  a  pure  straight  gable,  very  curiously  con- 
trasted with  the  delicate  bending  of  the  pieces  of  marble 
armor  cut  for  the  shoulders  of  each  arch.  There  is  a  two- 
lighted  window,  such  as  that  seen  in  the  vignette,  on  each 
side  of  the  door,  sustained  in  the  centre  by  a  basket-worked 

*  For  all  details  of  tliis  kind,  the  reader  is  referred  to  the  final  Ap- 
pendix in  Vol.  III. 


GOTHIC  PALACES. 


251 


Byzantine  capital :  the  mode  of  covering  the  brick  archivolt 
with  marble,  both  in  the  windows  and  doorway,  is  precisely 
like  that  of  the  true  Byzantine  palaces. 

§  xxvm.  But  as,  even  on  a  small  scale,  these  arches  are 
weak,  if  executed  in  brickwork,  the  appearance  of  this  sharp 
point  in  the  outline  was  rapidly  accompanied 
by  a  parallel  change  in  the  method  of  building  ; 
and  instead  of  constructing  the  arch  of  brick 
and  coating  it  with  marble,  the  builders  formed ' 
it  of  three  pieces  of  hewn  stone  inserted  in  jgj 
the  wall,  as  in  Fig.  XXVII.  Not,  however,  at : 
first  in  this  perfect  form.  The  endeavor  to 
reconcile  the  grace  of  the  reversed  arch  with  the  strength 
of  the  round  one,  and  still  to  build  in  brick,  ended  at  first 
in  conditions  such  as  that  represented  at  a.  Fig.  XXVHL, 


Fig.  XXVII. 


a  Fig.  XXVIII. 

which  is  a  window  in  the  Calle  del  Pistor,  close  to  the 
church  of  the  Apostoli,  a  very  interesting  and  perfect  ex- 
ample. Here,  observe,  the  poor  round  arch  is  still  kept  to  do 
all  the  hard  work,  and  the  fantastic  ogee  takes  its  pleasure 
above,  in  the  form  of  a  moulding  merely,  a  chain  of  bricks 
cast  to  the  required  curve.  And  this  condition,  translated  into 
stone-work,  becomes  a  window  of  the  second  order  (b,  Fig. 
XXYIH. ,  or  2,  in  Plate- XIV.)  ;  a  form  perfectly  strong  and 
serviceable,  and  of  immense  importance  in  the  transitional 
architecture  of  Venice. 

§  xxix.  At  b,  Fig:  XXVIII.,  as  above,  is  given  one  of  the 
earliest  and  simplest  occurrences  of  the  second  order  window 


252 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


(in  a  double  group,  exactly  like  the  brick  transitional  form  a), 
from  a  most  important  fragment  of  a  defaced  house  in  the 
Salizzada  San  Lio,  close  to  the  Merceria.  It  is  associated 
with  a  fine  pointed  brick  arch,  indisputably  of  contemporary 
work,  towards  the  close  of  the  thirteenth  century,  and  it 
is  shown  to  be  later  than  the  previous  example,  a,  by  the 
greater  developement  of  its  mouldings.  The  archivolt  pro- 
file, indeed,  is  the  simpler  of  the  two,  not  having  the  sub- 
arch  ;  as  in  the  brick  example  ;  but  the  other 

t mouldings  are  far  more  developed.  Fig. 
XXIX.  shows  at  1  the  arch  profiles,  at  2  the 
capital  profiles,  at  3  the  basic -plinth  profiles, 
of  each  window,  a  and  b. 

§  xxx.  But  the  second  order  window  soon 
attained   nobler  developement.     At  once 
simple,  graceful,  and  strong,  it  was  received 
into  all  the  architecture  of  the- period,  and 
there  is  hardly  a  street  in  Venice  which  does 
not  exhibit  some  important  remains  of  pal- 
aces built  with  this  form  of  window  in  many 
stories,  and  in  numerous  groups.    The  most 
extensive  and  perfect  is  one  upon  the  Grand 
Canal  in  the  parish  of  the  Apostoli,  near  the 
Rialto,  covered  with  rich  decoration,  in  the 
\  m  Byzantine  manner,  between  the  windows  of 
\T     its  first  story  ;  but  not  completely  charac- 
\    teristic  of  the  transitional  period,  because 
V  still  retaining  the  dentil  in  the  arch  mould- 
ings, while  the  transitional  houses  all  have 
*  a  the  simple  roll.  Of  the  fully  established  type, 

one  of  the  most  extensive  and  perfect  exam- 
ples is  in  a  court  in  the  Calle  di  Bimedio,  close  to  the  Ponte 
dell'  Angelo,  near  St.  Mark's  Place.  Another  looks  out  upon 
a  small  square  garden,  one  of  the  few  visible  in  the  centre  of 
Venice,  close  by  the  Corte  Salviati  (the  latter  being  known  to 
every  cicerone  as  that  from  which  Bianca  Capello  fled).  But, 
on  the  whole,  the  most  interesting  to  the  traveller  is  that  of 
which  I  have  given  a  vignette  opposite. 


Plate  XV. — Windows  of  the  Second  Order.    Casa  Falieu. 


GOTHIC  PALACES. 


253 


But  for  this  range  of  windows,  the  little  piazza  SS.  Apostoli 
would  be  one  of  the  least  picturesque  in  Venice  ;  to  those, 
however,  who  seek  it  on  foot,  it  becomes  geographically  inter- 
esting from  the  extraordinary  involution  of  the  alleys  leading 
to  it  from  the  Eialto.  In  Venice,  the  straight  road  is  usually 
by  water,  and  the  long  road  by  land  ;  but  the  difference  of 
distance  appears,  in  this  case,  altogether  inexplicable.  Twenty 
or  thirty  strokes  of  the  oar  will  bring  a  gondola  from  the  foot 
of  the  Eialto  to  that  of  the  Ponte  SS.  Apostoli ;  but  the  un- 
wise pedestrian,  who  has  not  noticed  the  white  clue  beneath 
his  feet,*  may  think  himself  fortunate,  if,  after  a  quarter  of 
an  hour's  wandering  among  the  houses  behind  the  Fondaco 
de'  Tedeschi,  he  finds  himself  anywhere  in  the  neighborhood 
of  the  point  he  seeks.  "With  much  patience,  however,  and 
modest  following  of  the  guidance  of  the  marble  thread,  he 
will  at  last  emerge  over  a  steep  bridge  into  the  open  space  of 
the  Piazza,  rendered  cheerful  in  autumn  by  a  perpetual  mar- 
ket of  pomegranates,  and  purple  gourds,  like  enormous  black 
figs  ;  while  the  canal,  at  its  extremity,  is  half-blocked  up  by 
barges  laden  with  vast  baskets  of  grapes  as  black  as  charcoal, 
thatched  over  with  their  own  leaves. 

Looking  back,  on  the  other  side  of  this  canal,  he  will  see 
the  windows  represented  in  Plate  XV.,  which,  with  the  arcade 
of  pointed  arches  beneath  them,  are  the  remains  of  the  palace 
once  belonging  to  the  unhappy  doge,  Marino  Faliero. 

The  balcony  is,  of  course,  modern,  and  the  series  of  win- 
dows has  been  of  greater  extent,  once  terminated  by  a  pilas- 
ter on  the  left  hand,  as  well  as  on  the  right ;  but  the  terminal 
arches  have  been  walled  up.  "What  remains,  however,  is 
enough,  with  its  sculptured  birds  and  dragons,  to  give  the 
reader  a  very  distinct  idea  of  the  second  order  window  in  its 

*  Two  threads  of  white  marble,  each  about  an  inch  wide,  inlaid  in 
the  dark  grey  pavement,  indicate  the  road  to  the  Eialto  from  the 
farthest  extremity  of  the  north  quarter  of  Venice.  The  peasant  or 
traveller,  lost  in  the  intricacy  of  the  pathway  in  this  portion  of  the  city, 
cannot  fail,  after  a  few  experimental  traverses,  to  cross  these  white  lines, 
which  thenceforward  he  has  nothing  to  do  but  to  follow,  though  their 
capricious  sinuosities  will  try  his  patience  not  a  little. 


254 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


perfect  form.  The  details  of  the  capitals,  and  other  minoi 
portions,  if  these  interest  him,  he  will  find  given  in  the  final 
Appendix. 

§  xxxi.  The  advance  of  the  Gothic  spirit  was,  for  a  few 
years,  checked  by  this  compromise  between  the  round  and 
pointed  arch.  The  truce,  however,  was  at  last  broken,  in  con- 
sequence of  the  discovery  that  the  keystone  would  do  duty 
quite  as  well  in  the  form  b  as  in  the  form  a,  Fig.  XXX.,  and 
the  substitution  of  b,  at  the  head  of  the  arch, 
/\  gives  us  the  window  of  the  third  order,  3  b,  3  d, 

C-J     V^and  3  e,  in  Plate  XIV.    The  forms  3  a  and  3  c 

tt,         h    are  exceptional  ;  the  first  occurring,  as  we  have 
Fig  xxx  • 

seen,  in  the  Corte  del  Eemer,  and  in  one  other 

palace  on  the  Grand  Canal,  close  to  the  Church  of  St.  Eustachio  ; 
the  second  only,  as  far  as  I  know,  in  one  house  on  the  Can- 
na-Beggio,  belonging  to  the  true  Gothic  period.  The  other 
three  examples,  3  b,  3  d,  3  e,  are  generally  characteristic  'of  the 
third  order  ;  and  it  wTill  be  observed  that  they  differ  not 
merely  in  mouldings,  but  in  slope  of  sides,  and  this  latter  dif- 
ference is  by  far  the  most  material.  For  in  the  example  3  b 
there  is  hardly  any  truo  Gothic  expression  ;  it  is  still  the  pure 
Byzantine  arch,  with  a  point  thrust  up  through  it :  but  the 
moment  the  flanks  slope,  as  in  3  d,  the  Gothic  expression  is 
definite,  and  the  entire  school  of  the  architecture  is  changed. 

This  slope  of  the  flanks  occurs,  first,  in  so  slight  a  degree 
as  to  be  hardly  perceptible,  and  gradually  increases  until,  reach- 
ing the  form  3  e  at  the  close  of  the  thirteenth  century,  the 
window  is  perfectly  prepared  for  a  transition  into  the  fifth 
order. 

§  xxxn.  The  most  perfect  examples  of  the  third  order  in 
Venice  are  the  windows  of  the  ruined  palace  of  Marco  Querini, 
the  father-in-law  of  Bajamonte  Tiepolo,  in  consequence  of 
whose  conspiracy  against  the  government  this  palace  was 
ordered  to  be  razed  in  1310  ;  but  it  was  only  partially  ruined, 
and  was  afterwards  used  as  the  common  shambles.  The  Vene- 
tians have  now  made  a  poultry  market  of  the  lower  story  (the 
shambles  being  removed  to  a  suburb),  and  a  prison  of  the 
upper,  though  it  is  one  of  the  most  important  and  interesting 


GOTHIC  PALACES. 


25,i 


monuments  in  the  city,  and  especially  valuable  as  giving  us  a 
secure  date  for  the  central  form  of  these  very  rare  transitional 
windows.  For,  as  it  was  the  palace  of  the  father-in-law  of 
Bajamonte,  and  the  later  was  old  enough  to  assume  the  leader- 
ship of  a  political  faction  in  1280, *  the  date  of  the  accession  to 
the  throne  of  the  Doge  Pietro  Gradenigo,  we  are  secure  of 
this  palace  having  been  built  not  later  than  the  middle  of  the 
thirteenth  century.  Another  example,  less  refined  in  work- 
manship, but,  if  possible,  still  more  interesting,  owing  to  the 


variety  of  its  capitals,  remains  in  the  little  piazza  opening  to 
the  Rial  to,  on  the  St.  Mark's  side  of  the  Grand  Canal.  The 
house  faces  the  bridge,  and  its  second  story  has  been  built  in 
the  thirteenth  century,  above  a  still  earlier  Byzantine  cornice 
remaining,  or  perhaps  introduced  from  some  other  ruined  edi- 
fice, in  the  walls  of  the  first  floor.  The  windows  of  the  second 
story  are  of  pure  third  order ;  four  of  them  are  represented 
above,  with  their  flanking  pilaster,  and  capitals  varying  con- 
stantly in  the  form  of  the  flower  or  leaf  introduced  between 
their  volutes. 

§  xxxm.  Another  most  important  example  exists  in  the 
lower  story  of  the  Casa  Sagredo,  on  the  Grand  Canal,  remark- 
able as  having  the  early  upright  form  (3  6,  Plate  XIV.)  with 
a  somewhat  late  moulding.  Many  others  occur  in  the  frag- 
mentary ruins  in  the  streets  :  but  the  two  boldest  conditions 

*  An  account  of  the  conspiracy  of  Bajamonte  may  be  found  in  almost 
any  Venetian  history  ;  the  reader  may  consult  Mutinelli,  Annali  Urbani, 
lib.  iii. 

\ 


256 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


which  I  found  in  Venice  are  those  of  the  Chapter-House  of 
the  Frari,  in  which  the  Doge  Francesco  Dandolo  was  buried 
circa  1339  ;  and  those  of  the  flank  of  the  Ducal  Palace  itself 
absolutely  corresponding  with  those  of  the  Frari,  and  there- 
fore of  inestimable  value  in  determining  the  date  of  the  palace. 
Of  these  more  hereafter. 

§  xxxrv.  Contemporarily  with  these  windows  of  the  second 
and  third  orders,  those  of  the  fourth  (4  a  and  4  b,  in  Plate 
XIV.)  occur,  at  first  in  pairs,  and  with  simple  mouldings,  pre- 
cisely similar  to  those  of  the  second  order,  but  much  more 

rare,  as  in  the  example  at  the 
side,  Fig.  XXXIX. ,  from  the 
Salizada  San  Lid;  and  then, 
enriching  their  mouldings  as 
shown  in  the  continuous  series 
4  c,  4  d,  of  Plate  XIV.,  asso- 
ciate themselves  with  the  fifth 
order  windows  of  the  perfect 
Gothic  period.  There  is  hard- 
ly a  palace  in  Venice  without 
some  example,  either  early  or 
late,  of  these  fourth  order  win- 
dows ;  but  the  Plate  opposite  (XVI.)  represents  one  of  their 
purest  groups  at  the  close  of  the  thirteenth  century,  from  a 
house  on  the  Grand  Canal,  nearly  opposite  the  Church  of  the 
Scalzi.  I  have  drawn  it  from  the  side,  in  order  that  the  great 
depth  of  the  arches  may  be  seen,  and  the  clear  detaching  of 
the  shafts  from  the  sheets  of  glass  behind.  The  latter,  as 
well  as  the  balcony,  are  comparatively  modern  ;  but  there  is 
no  doubt  that  if  glass  were  used  in  the  old  window,  it  was  set 
behind  the  shafts,  at  the  same  depth.  The  entire  modification 
of  the  interiors  of  all  the  Venetian  houses  by  recent  work  has 
however  prevented  me  from  entering  into  any  inquiry  as  to 
the  manner  in  which  the  ancient  glazing  was  attached  to  the 
interiors  of  the  windows. 

The  fourth  order  window  is  found  in  great  richness  and 
beauty  at  Verona,  down  to  the  latest  Gothic  times,  as  well  as 
in  the  earliest,  being  then  more  frequent  than  any  other  form, 


Fig.  XXXII. 


Pt.ate  XVI. — Windows  of  the  Fourth  Order. 


GOTHIC  PALACES. 


257 


It  occurs,  on  a  grand  scale,  in  the  old  palace  of  the  Scaligers, 
and  profusely  throughout  the  streets  of  the  city.  The  series 
4  a  to  4  e,  Plate  XIV.,  shows  its  most  ordinary  conditions 
and  changes  of  arch-line :  4  a  and  4  b  are  the  early  Venetian 
forms  ;  4  c,  later,  is  general  at  Venice  ;  4  d,  the  best  and  most 
piquant  condition,  owing  to  its  fantastic  and  bold  projection 
of  cusp,  is  common  to  Venice  and  Verona  ;  4  e  is  early  Vero- 
nese. 

§  xxxv.  The  reader  will  see  at  once,  in  descending  to  the 
fifth  row  in  Plate  XIV.,  representing  the  windows  of  the  fifth 
order,  that  they  are  nothing  more  than  a  combination  of  the 
third  and  fourth.  By  this  union  they  become  the  nearest  ap- 
proximation to  a  perfect  Gothic  form  which  occurs  charac- 
teristically at  Venice  ;  and  wre  shall  therefore  pause  on  the 
threshold  of  this  final  change,  to  glance  back  upon,  and 
gather  together,  those  fragments  of  purer  pointed  architect- 
ure which  were  above  noticed  as  the  forlorn  hopes  of  the 
Gothic  assault. 

The  little  Gampiello  San  Kocco  is  entered  by  a  sotto-portico 
behind  the  church  of  the  Frari.  Looking  back,  the  upper 
traceries  of  the  magnificent  apse  are  seen  towering  above  the 
irregular  roofs  and  chimneys  of  the  little  square  ;  and  our  lost 
Prout  was  enabled  to  bring  the  whole  subject  into  an  exquis- 
itely picturesque  composition,  by  the  fortunate  occurrence  of 
four  quaint  tref oiled  windows  in  one  of  the  houses  on  the 
right.  Those  trefoils  are  among  the  most  ancient  efforts  of 
Gothic  art  in  Venice.  I  have  given  a  rude  sketch  of  them  in 
Fig.  XXXIII.  They  are  built  entirely  of  brick,  except  the 
central  shaft  and  capital,  which  are  of  Istrian  stone.  Their 
structure  is  the  simplest  possible  ;  the  trefoils  being  cut  out 
of  the  radiating  bricks  which  form  the  pointed  arch,  and  the 
edge  or  upper  limit  of  that  pointed  arch  indicated  by  a  roll 
moulding  formed  of  cast  bricks,  in  length  of  about  a  foot,  and 
ground  at  the  bottom  so  as  to  meet  in  one,  as  in  Fig.  XXXTV. 
The  capital  of  the  shaft  is  one  of  the  earliest  transitional 
forms  ;  *  and  observe  the  curious  following  out,  even  in  this 
minor  instance,  of  the  great  law  of  centralization  above  ex- 
*  See  account  of  series  of  capitals  in  final  Appendix. 

Vol.  II.—  1%  \ 


25S  THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 

plained  with  respect  to  the  Byzantine  palaces.  There  is  a 
central  shaft,  a  pilaster  on  each  side,  and  then  the  wall.  The 
pilaster  has,  by  way  of  capital,  a  square  flat  brick,  projecting 
a  little,  and  cast,  at  the  edge,  into  the  form  of  the  first  type 
of  all  cornices  (a,  p.  75,  Vol.  I.  ;  the  reader  ought  to  glance 
back  at  this  passage,  if  he  has  forgotten  it) ;  and  the  shafts 
and  pilasters  all  stand,  without  any  added  bases,  on  a  project- 
ing plinth  of  the  same  simple  profile.    These  windows  have 


Fig.  XXXIII.  Fig.  XXXIV. 


been  much  defaced  ;  but  I  have  not  the  least  doubt  that  their 
plinths  are  the  original  ones  :  and  the  whole  group  is  one  o! 
the  most  valuable  in  Venice,  as  showing  the  way  in  which  the 
humblest  houses,  in  the  noble  times,  followed  out  the  system 
of  the  larger  palaces,  as  far  as  they  could,  in  their  rude  mate- 
rials. It  is  not  often  that  the  dwellings  of  the  lower  orders 
are  preserved  to  us  from  the  thirteenth  century. 

§  xxxvi.  In  the  two  upper  lines  of  the  opposite  Plate 
(XVII.),  I  have  arranged  some  of  the  more  delicate  and  fin- 
ished examples  of  Gothic  work  of  this  period.  Of  these,  fig. 
4  is  taken  from  the  outer  arcade  of  San  Fermo  of  Verona,  to 
showT  the  condition  of  mainland  architecture,  from  which  all 
these  Venetian  types  were  borrowed.  This  arch,  together 
with  the  rest  of  the  arcade,  is  wrought  in  fine  stone,  with  a 
band  of  inlaid  red  brick,  the  whole  chiselled  and  fitted  with 
exquisite  precision,  all  Venetian  work  being  coarse  in  com- 


Plate  XVII. — Windows  of  the  Early  Gothic  Palaces, 


GOTHIC  PALACES. 


259 


parison.  Throughout  the  streets  of  Verona,  arches  and  win- 
dows of  the  thirteenth  century  are  of  continual  occurrence, 
wrought,  in  this  manner,  with  brick  and  stone  ;  sometimes 
the  brick  alternating  with  the  stones  of  the  arch,  as  in  the 
finished  example  given  in  Plate  XIX.  of  the  first  volume,  and 
there  selected  in  preference  to  other  examples  of  archivolt 
decoration,  because  furnishing  a  complete  type  of  the  master 
school  from  which  the  Venetian  Gothic  is  derived. 

§  xxxvii.  The  arch  from  St.  Fermo,  however,  fig.  4,  Plate 
XVII.,  corresponds  more  closely,  in  its  entire  simplicity,  with 
the  little  windows  from  the  Campiello  San  Rocco  ;  and  with 
the  type  5  set  beside  it  in  Plate  XVII. ,  from  a  very  ancient 
house  in  the  Corte  del  Forno  at  Santa  Marina  (all  in  brick)  ; 
while  the  upper  examples,  1  and  2,  show  the  use  of  the  flat 
but  highly  enriched  architrave,  for  the  connection  of  which 
with  Byzantine  work  see  the  final  Appendix,  Vol.  III.,  under 
the  head  "Archivolt."  These  windows  (figs.  1  and  2,  Plate 
XVII.)  are  from  a  narrow  alley  in  a  part  of  Venice  now  exclu- 
sively inhabited  by  the  lower  orders,  close  to  the  arsenal  ;  * 
they  are  entirely  wrought  in  brick,  with  exquisite  mouldings, 
not  cast,  but  moulded  in  the  clay  by  the  hand,  so  that  there  is 
not  one  piece  of  the  arch  like  another  ;  the  pilasters  and 
shafts  being,  as  usual,  of  stone. 

§  xxxviii.  And  here  let  me  pause  for  a  moment,  to  note 
what  one  should  have  thought  was  well  enough  known  in 
England, — yet  I  could  not  perhaps  touch  upou  anything  less 
considered,— the  real  use  of  brick.  Our  fields  of  good  clay 
were  never  given  us  to  be  made  into  oblong  morsels  of  one 
size.  They  were  given  us  that  we  might  play  with  them,  and 
that  men  who  could  not  handle  a  chisel,  might  knead  out  of 
them  some  expression  of  human  thought.  In  the  ancient 
architecture  of  the  clay  districts  of  Italy,  every  possible 

*  If -the  traveller  desire  to  find  them  (and  they  are  worth  seeking"*, 
let  him  row  from  the  Fondamenta  S.  Biagio  down  the  Rio  deila  Tana ;  and 
look,  on  his  right,  for  a  low  house  with  windows  in  it  like  those  in  the 
woodcut  No.  XXXI.  above,  p.  255.  Let  him  go  in  at  the  door  of  the 
portico  in  the  middle  of  this  house,  and  he  will  find  himself  in  a  small 
alley,  Tith  the  windows  in  question  on  each  side  of  him. 


260 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


adaptation  of  the  material  is  found  exemplified :  from  the 
coarsest  and  most  brittle  kinds,  used  in  the  mass  of  the 
structure,  to  bricks  for  arches  and  plinths,  cast  in  the  most 
perfect  curves,  and  of  almost  every  size,  strength,  and  hard- 
ness ;  and  moulded  bricks,  wrought  into  flower-work  and 
tracery  as  fine  as  raised  patterns  upon  china.  And,  just  as 
many  of  the  finest  works  of  the  Italian  sculptors  were  exe- 
cuted in  porcelain,  many  of  the  best  thoughts  of  their  archi- 
tects are  expressed  in  brick,  or  in  the  softer  material  of  terra 
cotta ;  and  if  this  were  so  in  Italy,  where  there  is  not  one  city 
from  whose  towers  we  may  not  descry  the  blue  outline  of  Alp 
or  Apennine,  everlasting  quarries  of  granite  or  marble,  how 
much  more  ought  it  to  be  so  among  the  fields  of  England  ! 
I  believe  that  the  best  academy  for  her  architects,  for  some 
half  century  to  come,  would  be  the  brick-field;  for  of  this 
they  may  rest  assured,  that  till  they  know  how  to  use  clay, 
they  will  never  know  how  to  use  marble. 

§  xxxix.  And  now  observe,  as  we  pass  from  fig.  2  to  fig.  3, 
and  from  fig.  5  to  fig.  6,  in  Plate  XVII.,  a  most  interesting  step 
of  transition.  As  we  saw  above,  §  xiv.,  the  round  arch  yield- 
ing to  the  Gothic,  by  allowing  a  point  to  emerge  at  its  sum- 
mit, so  here  we  have  the  Gothic  conceding  something  to  the 
form  which  had  been  assumed  by  the  round ;  and  itself 
slightly  altering  its  outline  so  as  to  meet  the  condescension 
of  the  round  arch  half  way.  At  page  142  of  the  first  volume, 
I  have  drawn  to  scale  one  of  these  minute  concessions  of  the 
pointed  arch,  granted  at  Verona  out  of  pure  courtesy  to  the 
Venetian  forms,  by  one  of  the  purest  Gothic  ornaments  in  the 
world  ;  and  the  small  window  here,  fig.  6,  is  a  similar  example 
at  Venice  itself,  from  the  Campo  Santa  Maria  Mater  Domini, 
where  the  reversed  curve  at  the  head  of  the  pointed  arch  is 
just  perceptible  and  no  more.  The  other  examples,  figs.  3  and 
7,  the  first  from  a  small  but  very  noble  house  in  the  Merceria, 
the  second  from  an  isolated  palace  at  Murano,  show  more 
advanced  conditions  of  the  reversed  curve,  which,  though  still 
employing  the  broad  decorated  architrave  of  the  earlier  exam- 
ples, are  in  all  other  respects  prepared  for  the  transition  to  the 
simple  window  of  the  fifth  order. 


GOTHIC  PALACES. 


261 


§  xl.  The  next  example,  the  uppermost  of  the  three  lowei 
series  in  Plate  XVII.,  shows  this  order  in  its  early  purity  • 
associated  with  intermediate  decorations  like  those  of  the 
Byzantines,  from  a  palace  once  belonging  to  the  Erizzo  family, 
near  the  Arsenal.  The  ornaments  appear  to  be  actually  of 
Greek  workmanship  (except,  perhaps,  the  two  birds  over  the 
central  arch,  which  are  bolder,  and  more  free  in  treatment), 
and  built  into  the  Gothic  fronts  ;  showing,  however,  the  early 
date  of  the  whole  by  the  manner  of  their  insertion,  corre- 
sponding exactly  with  that  employed  in  the  Byzantine  palaces, 
and  by  the  covering  of  the  intermediate  spaces  with  sheets  of 
marble,  which,  however,  instead  of  being  laid  over  the  entire 
wall,  are  now  confined  to  the  immediate  spaces  between  and 
above  the  windows,  and  are  bounded  by  a  dentil  mould- 
ing. 

In  the  example  below  this  the  Byzantine  ornamentation  has 
vanished,  and  the  fifth  order  window  is  seen  in  its  generic 
form,  as  commonly  employed  throughout  the  early  Gothic 
period.  Such  arcades  are  of  perpetual  occurrence  ;  the  one 
in  the  Plate  was  taken  from  a  small  palace  on  the  Grand 
Canal,  nearly  opposite  the  Casa  Foscari.  One  point  in  it  de- 
serves especial  notice,  the  increased  size  of  the  lateral  window 
as  compared  with  the  rest  :  a  circumstance  which  occurs  in 
a  great  number  of  the  groups  of  windows  belonging  to  this 
period,  and  for  which  I  have  never  been  able  to  account. 

§  xli.  Both  these  figures  have  been  most  carefully  en- 
graved ;  and  the  uppermost  will  give  the  reader  a  perfectly 
faithful  idea  of  the  general  effect  of  the  Byzantine  sculptures, 
and  of  the  varied  alabaster  among  which  they  are  inlaid,  as 
well  as  of  the  manner  in  which  these  pieces  are  set  together, 
every  joint  having  been  drawn  on  the  spot :  and  the  transition 
from  the  embroidered  and  silvery  richness  of  this  architecture, 
in  which  the  Byzantine  ornamentation  wTas  associated  with  the 
Gothic  form  of  arch,  to  the  simplicity  of  the  pure  Gothic 
arcade  as  seen  in  the  lower  figure,  is  one  of  the  most  remark- 
able phenomena  in  the  history,  of  Venetian  art.  If  it  had 
occurred  suddenly,  and  at  an  earlier  period,  it  might  have 
been  traced  partly  to  the  hatred  of  the  Greeks,  consequent 


262 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


upon  the  treachery  of  Manuel  Comnenus,*  and  the  fatal  war* 
to  which  it  led  ;  but  the  change  takes  place  gradually,  and  not 
till  a  much  later  period.  I  hoped  to  have  been  able  to  make 
some  careful  inquiries  into  the  habits  of  domestic  life  of  the 
Venetians  before  and  after  the  dissolution  of  their  friendly 
relations  with  Constantinople  ;  but  the  labor  necessary  for  the 
execution  of  my  more  immediate  task  has  entirely  prevented 
this  :  and  I  must  be  content  to  lay  the  succession  of  the  archi- 
tectural styles  plainly  before  the  reader,  and  leave  the  collat- 
eral questions  to  the  investigation  of  others  ;  merely  noting 
this  one  assured  fact,  that  the  r^oot  of  all  that  is  greatest  in 
(Jhristian  art  is  struck  in  the  thirteenth  century  :  that  the  tem- 
per of  that  century  is  the  life-blood  of  all  manly  work  thence- 
forward in  Europe  ;  and  I  suppose  that  one  of  its  peculiar 
characteristics  was  elsewhere,  as  assuredly  in  Florence,  a 
singular  simplicity  in  domestic  life  : 

"  I  saw  Bellincion  Berti  walk  abroad 
In  leathern  girdle,  and  a  clasp  of  bone  ; 
And,  witli  no  artful  coloring  on  her  cheeks, 
His  lady  leave  the  glass.    The  sons  I  saw 
Of  Verli  and  of  Vecchio,  well  content 
With  unrobed  jerkin,  and  their  good  dames  handling 
The  spindle  and  the  flax. 
One  waked  to  tend  the  cradle,  hushing  it 
With  sounds  that  lulled  the  parents'  infancy ; 
Another,  with  her  maidens,  drawing  off 
The  tresses  from  the  distaff,  lectured  them 
Old  tales  of  Troy,  and  Fesole,  and  Kome."  f 

*  The  bitterness  of  feeling  with  which  the  Venetians  must  have  re- 
membered this,  was  probably  the  cause  of  their  magnificent  heroism  in 
the  final  siege  of  the  city  under  Dandolo,  and,  partly,  of  the  excesses 
which  disgraced  their  victory.  The  conduct  of  the  allied  army  of  the 
Crusaders  on  this  occasion  cannot,  however,  be  brought  in  evidence  ot 
general  barbarism  in  the  thirteenth  century :  first,  because  the  masses 
of  the  crusading  armies  were  in  great  part  composed  of  the  refuse  of  the, 
nations  of  Europe  ;  and  secondly,  because  such  a  mode  of  argument 
might  lead  us  to  inconvenient  conclusions  respecting  ourselves,  so  long 
as  the  horses  of  the  Austrian  cavalry  are  stabled  in  the  cloister  of  the 
convent  which  contains  the  Last  Supper  of  Leonardo  da  Vinci.  See 
Appendix  3,  Vol.  III.  :  "  Austrian  Government  in  Italy." 

f  It  is  generally  better  to  read  ten  lines  of  any  poet  in  the  original 


GOTHIC  PALACES. 


263 


§  xlil  Such,  then,  is  the  simple  fact  at  Venice,  that  from 
the  beginning  of  the  thirteenth  century  there  is  found  a  sin- 
gular increase  of  simplicity  in  all  architectural  ornamentation  ; 
the  rich  Byzantine  capitals  giving  place  to  a  pure  and  severe 
type  hereafter  to  be  described,*  and  the  rich  sculptures  vanish- 
ing from  the  walls,  nothing  but  the  marble  facing  remaining. 
One  of  the  most  interesting  examples  of  this  transitional  state 
is  a  palace  at  San  Severo,  just  behind  the  Casa  Zorzi.  This 
latter  is  a  Renaissance  building,  utterly  worthless  in  every 
respect,  but  known  to  the  Venetian  Cicero oi  ;  and  by  inquir- 
ing for  it,  and  passing  a  little  beyond  it  down  the  Fondamenta 
San  Severo,  the  traveller  will  see,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
canal,  a  palace  which  the  Ciceroni  never  notice,  but  which  is 
unique  hi  Venice  for  the  magnificence  of  the  veined  purple 
alabasters  with  which  it  has  been  decorated,  and  for  the  manly 
simplicity  of  the  foliage  of  its  capitals.  Except  in  these,  it 
has  no  sculpture  whatever,  and  its  effect  is  dependent  entirely 
on  color.  Disks  of  green  serpentine  are  inlaid  on  the  field 
of  purple  alabaster  ;  and  the  pillars  are-  alternately  of  red 
marble  with  white  capitals,  and  of  white  marble  with  red 
capitals.  Its  windows  appear  of  the  third  order  ;  and  the  back 
of  the  palace,  in  a  small  and  most  picturesque  court,  shows  a 
group  of  windows  which  are,  perhaps,  the  most  superb  ex- 
amples of  that  order  in  Venice.  But  the  windows  to  the  front 
have,  I  think,  been  of  the  fifth  order,  and  their  cusps  have 
been  cut  away. 

§  xliii.  When  the  Gothic  feeling  began  more  decidedly  to 
language,  however  painfully,  than  ten  cantos  of  a  translation.  But  an 
exception  may  be  made  in  favor  of  Gary's  Dante.  If  no  poet  ever  was 
liable  to  lose  more  in  translation,  none  was  ever  so  carefully  translated  ; 
and  I  hardly  know  whether  most  to  admire  the  rigid  fidelity,  or  the 
sweet  and  solemn  harmony,  of  Gary's  verse.  There  is  hardly  a  fault  in 
the  fragment  quoted  above,  except  the  word  "  lectured,"  for  Dante's 
beautiful  "  favoleggiava  ; "  and  even  in  this  case,  joining  the  first  words 
of  the  following  line,  the  translation  is  strictly  literal.  It  is  true  that 
the  conciseness  and  the  rivulet-like  melody  of  Dante  must  continually 
be  lost  ;  but  if  I  could  only  read  English,  and  had  to  choose,  for  a  li- 
brary narrowed  by  poverty,  between  Cary's  Dante  and  our  own  originaj 
Milton,  I  should  choose  Gary  without  an  instant's  pause. 

*  See  final  Appendix,  Vol.  111. ,  under  head  "  Capitals." 


2G4 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


establish  itself,  it  evidently  became  a  question  with  the  Vene* 
tian  builders,  how  the  intervals  between  the  arches,  now  left 
blank  by  the  abandonment  of  the  Byzantine  sculptures,  should 
be  enriched  in  accordance  with  the  principles  of  the  new 
school.  Two  most  important  examples  are  left  of  the  experi- 
ments made  at  this  period  :  one  at  the  Ponte  del  Forner,  at 
San  Cassano,  a  noble  house  in  which  the  spandrils  of  the  win- 
dows are  filled  by  the  emblems  of  the  four  Evangelists,  sculpt- 
ured in  deep  relief,  and  touching  the  edges  of  the  arches 
with  their  expanded  wings  ;  the  other  now  known  as  the  Pa- 
lazzo Cicogna,  near  the  church  of  San  Sebastiano,  in  the 
quarter  called  £:of  the  Archangel  Kaphael,"  in  which  a  large 
space  of  wall  above  the  windows  is  occupied  by  an  intricate 
but  rude  tracery  of  involved  quatrefoils.  Of  both  these  palaces 
I  purposed  to  give  drawings  in  my  folio  work ;  but  I  shall 
probably  be  saved  the  trouble  by  the  publication  of  the  beau- 
tiful calotypes  lately  made  at  Venice  of  both  ;  and  it  is  un- 
necessary to  represent  them  here,  as  they  are  unique  in  Vene- 
tian architecture,  with  the  single  exception  of  an  unimportant 
imitation  of  the  first  of  them  in  a  little  by-street  close  to  the 
Campo  Sta.  Maria  Formosa.  For  the  question  as  to  the  mode 
of  decorating  the  interval  between  the  arches  was  suddenly 
and  irrevocably  determined  by  the  builder  of  the  Ducal  Palace, 
who,  as  we  have  seen,  taking  his  first  idea  from  the  traceries 
of  the  Frari,  and  arranging  those  traceries  as  best  fitted  his 
own  purpose,  designed  the  great  arcade  (the  lowest  of  the 
three  in  Plate  XVII. ),  which  thenceforward  became  the  estab- 
lished model  for  every  work  of  importance  in  Venice.  The 
palaces  built  on  this  model,  however,  most  of  them  not  till 
the  beginning  of  the  fifteenth  century,  belong  properly  to  the 
time  of  the  Renaissance  ;  and  what  little  we  have  to  note  re- 
specting them  may  be  more  clearly  stated  in  connexion  with 
other  facts  characteristic  of  that  period. 

§  xliv.  As  the  examples  in  Plate  XVII.  are  necessarily  con- 
fined to  the  upper  parts  of  the  windows,  I  have  given  in  the 
Plate  opposite  (XVIII.*)  examples  of  the  fifth  order  window, 

*  This  Plate  is  not  from  a  drawing  of  mine.  It  has  been  engraved  by 
Mr.  Armytage,  with  great  skill,  from  two  daguerreotypes. 


Plate  XVIII. — Windows  of  the  Fifth  Order. 


GOTHIC  PALACES. 


265 


both  in  its  earliest  and  in  its  fully  developed  form,  completed 
from  base  to  keystone.  The  upper  example  is  a  beautiful 
group  from  a  small  house,  never  of  any  size  or  pretension, 
and  now  inhabited  only  by  the  poor,  in  the  Campiello  della 
Strope,  close  to  the  Church  of  San  Giacomo  de  Lorio.  It  is 
remarkable  for  its  excessive  purity  of  curve,  and  is  of  very 
early  date,  its  mouldings  being  simpler  than  usual,  f  The 
lower  example  is  from  the  second  story  of  a  palace  belonging 
to  the  Priuli  family,  near  San  Lorenzo,  and  shows  one  feature 
to  which  our  attention  has  not  hitherto  been  directed,  namely, 
the  penetration  of  the  cusp,  leaving  only  a  silver  thread  of 
stone  traced  on  the  darkness  of  the  window.  I  need  not  say 
that,  in  this  condition,  the  cusp  ceases  to  have  any  construc- 
tive use,  and  is  merely  decorative,  but  often  exceedingly  beau- 
tiful. The  steps  of  transition  from  the  early  solid  cusp  to  this 
slender  thread  are  noticed  in  the  final  Appendix,  under  the 
head  "  Tracery  Bars  ; "  the  commencement  of  the  change  be- 
ing in  the  thinning  of  the  stone,  which  is  not  cut  through 
until  it  is  thoroughly  emaciated.  Generally  speaking,  the 
condition  in  which  the  cusp  is  found  is  a  useful  test  of  age, 
when  compared  with  other  points  ;  the  more  solid  it  is,  the 
more  ancient :  but  the  massive  form  is  often  found  associated 
with  the  perforated,  as  late  as  the  beginning  of  the  fourteenth 
century.  In  the  Ducal  Palace,  the  lower  or  bearing  traceries 
have  the  solid  cusp,  and  the  upper  traceries  of  the  windows, 
which  are  merely  decorative,  have  the  perforated  cusp,  both 
with  exquisite  effect. 

§  xlv.  The  smaller  balconies  between  the  great  shafts  in  the 
lower  example  in  Plate  XVIII.  are  original  and  characteristic : 
not  so  the  lateral  one  of  the  detached  window,  which  has 
been  restored  ;  but  by  imagining  it  to  be  like  that  represented 
in  fig.  1,  Plate  XIII.,  above,  which  is  a  perfect  window  of  the 
finest  time  of  the  fifth  order,  the  reader  will  be  unable  to 
form  a  complete  idea  of  the  external  appearance  of  the  prin- 
cipal apartments  in  the  house  of  a  noble  of  Venice,  at  the  be- 
ginning of  the  fourteenth  century. 

§  xlvi.  "Whether  noble,  or  merchant,  or,  as  frequently  hap- 
*  Vide  final  Appendix,  under  head  "  ArchivoU," 


266 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


pened,  both,  every  Venetian  appears,  at  this  time,  to  have 
raised  Lis  palace  or  dwelling-house  upon  one  type.  Under 
every  condition  of  importance,  through  every  variation  of 
size,  the  forms  and  mode  of  decoration  of  all  the  features 
were  universally  alike  ;  not  servilely  alike,  but  fraternally  \ 
not  with  the  sameness  of  coins  cast  from  one  mould,  but  with 
the  likeness  of  the  members  of  one  family.  No  fragment  of 
the  period  is  preserved,  in  which  the  windows,  be  they  few 
or  many,  a  group  of  three  or  an  arcade  of  thirty,  have  not 
the  noble  cusped  arch  of  the  fifth  order.  And  they  are  es- 
pecially to  be  noted  by  us  at  this  day,  because  these  refined 
and  richly  ornamented  forms  were  used  in  the  habitations  of 
a  nation  as  laborious,  as  practical,  as  brave,  and  as  prudent  as 
ourselves  ;  and  they  were  built  at  a  time  when  that  nation 
was  struggling  witli  calamities  and  changes  threatening  its 
existence  almost  every  hour.  And,  farther,  they  are  interest- 
ing because  perfectly  applicable  to  modern  habitation.  The 
refinement  of  domestic  life  appears  to  have  been  far  advanced 
in  Venice  from  her  earliest  days  ;  and  the  remains  of  her 
Gothic  palaces  are,  at  this  day,  the  most  delightful  residences 
in  the  city,  having  undergone  no  change  in  external  form,  and 
probably  having  been  rather  injured  than  rendered  more  con- 
venient by  the  modifications  which  poverty  and  Renaissance 
taste,  contending  with  the  ravages  of  time,  have  introduced 
in  the  interiors.  So  that,  in  Venice,  and  the  cities  grouped 
around  it,  Vicenza,  Padua,  and  Verona,  the  traveller  may  as- 
certain, by  actual  experience,  the  effect  which  would  be  pro- 
duced upon  the  comfort  or  luxury  of  daily  life  by  the  revival 
of  the  Gothic  school  of  architecture.  He  can  still  stand  upon 
the  marble  balcony  in  the  soft  summer  air,  and  feel  its  smooth 
surface  warm  from  the  noontide  as  he  leans  on  it  in  the  twi- 
light ;  he  can  still  see  the  strong  sweep  of  the  unruined 
traceries  drawn  on  the  deep  serenity  of  the  starry  sky,  and 
watch  the  fantastic  shadows  of  the  clustered  arches  shorten 
in  the  moonlight  on  the  chequered  floor  ;  or  he  may  close  the 
casements  fitted  to  their  unshaken  shafts  against  such  wintry 
winds  as  would  have  made  an  English  house  vibrate  to  its 
foundation,  and,  in  either  case,  compare  their  influence  on  his 


GOTHIC  PALACES. 


267 


daily  home  feeling  with  that  of  the  square  openings  in  his 
English  wall. 

§  xlvii.  And  let  him  be  assured,  if  he  find  there  is  more 
to  be  enjoyed  in  the  Gothic  window,  there  is  also  more  to  be 
trusted.  It  is  the  best  and  strongest  building,  as  it  is  the 
most  beautiful.  I  am  not  now  speaking  of  the  particular 
form  of  Venetian  Gothic,  but  of  the  general  strength  of  the 
pointed  arch  as  opposed  to  that  of  the  level  lintel  of  the 
square  window  ;  and  I  plead  for  the  introduction  of  the 
Gothic  form  into  our  domestic  architecture,  not  merely  be- 
cause it  is  lovely,  but  because  it  is  the  only  form  of  faithful, 
strong,  enduring,  and  honorable  building,  in  such  materials  as 
come  daily  to  our  hands.  By  increase  of  scale  and  cost,  it  is 
possible  to  build,  in  any  style,  what  will  last  for  ages  ;  but 
only  in  the  Gothic  is  it  possible  to  give  security  and  dignity 
to  work  wrought  with  imperfect  means  and  materials.  And 
I  trust  that  there  will  come  a  time  when  the  English  people 
may  see  the  folly  of  building  basely  and  insecurely.  It  is 
common  with  those  architects  against  whose  practice  my  writ- 
ings have  hitherto  been  directed,  to  call  them  merely  theo- 
retical and  imaginative.  I  answer,  that  there  is  not  a  single 
principle  asserted  either  in  the  "  Seven  Lamps  "  or  here,  but 
is  of  the  simplest,  sternest  veracity,  and  the  easiest  practical 
bility ;  that  buildings,  raised  as  I  would  have  them,  would 
stand  unshaken  for  a  thousand  years  ;  and  the  buildings 
raised  by  the  architects  who  oppose  them  will  not  stand  for 
one  hundred  and  fifty,  they  sometimes  do  not  stand  for  an 
hour.  There  is  hardly  a  week  passes  without  some  catas- 
trophe brought  about  by  the  base  principles  of  modern  build- 
ings ;  some  vaultless  floor  that  drops  the  staggering  crowd 
through  the  jagged  rents  of  its  rotten  timbers  ;  some  baseless 
bridge  that  is  washed  away  by  the  first  wave  of  a  summer 
flood  ;  some  fungous  wall  of  nascent  rottenness  that  a  thunder- 
shower  soaks  down  with  its  workmen  into  a  heap  of  slime 
and  death.*    These  we  hear  of,  day  by  day  :  yet  these  indi- 

*  ' 'On  Thursday,  the  20th,  the  front  walls  of  two  of  the  new  houses 
now  building  in  Victoria  Street,  "Westminster,  fell  to  the  ground.  .  .  . 
The  roof  was  on,  and  a  massive  compo  cornice  was  put  up  at  top,  as  well 


268 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


cate  but  the  thousandth  part  of  the  evil.  The  portion  of  the 
national  income  sacrificed  in  mere  bad  building,  in  the  per- 
petual repairs,  and  swift  condemnation  and  pulling  down  of 
ill-built  shells  of  houses,  passes  all  calculation.  And  the 
weight  of  the  penalty  is  not  yet  felt ;  it  will  tell  upon  our 
children  some  fifty  years  hence,  when  the  cheap  work,  and 
contract  work,  and  stucco  and  plaster  work,  and  bad  iron 
work,  and  all  the  other  expedients  of  modern  rivalry,  vanity, 
and  dishonesty,  begin  to  show  themselves  for  what  they  are. 

§  xlviii.  Indeed,  dishonesty  and  false  economy  will  no  more 
build  safely  in  Gothic  than  in  any  other  style :  but  of  all  forms 
which  we  could  possibly  employ,  to  be  framed  hastily  and  out 
of  bad  materials,  the  common  square  window  is  the  worst ; 
and  its  level  head  of  brickwork  (a,  Fig.  XXXV. )  is  the  weakest 
way  of  covering  a  space.  Indeed,  in  the  hastily  heaped  shells 
of  modern  houses,  there  may  be  seen  often  even  a  worse  man- 
ner of  placing  the  bricks,  as  at  b,  supporting  them  by  a  bit 
of  lath  till  the  mortar  dries  ;  but  even  when  worked  wTith  the 

utmost  care,  and  having  every  brick  tapered 
\A\  V     I J  1 1  into  the  form  of  a  voussoir  and  accurately 
I  \     n^ed,  I  have  seen  such  a  window-head  give 

way,  and  a  wide  fissure  torn  through  all  the 

brickwork  above  it,  two  years  after  it  wTas 
VWWY 77777  ^uilt  ;  while  the  pointed  arch  of  the  Veronese 
L^y=r^yi/  Gothic,  wrought  in  brick  also,  occurs  at  every 

corner  of  the  streets  of  the  city,  untouched 
Pig.  xxxv.       since  the  thirteenth  century,  and  without  a 

single  flaw. 

§  xux.  Neither  can  the  objection,  so  often  raised  against 
the  pointed  arch,  that  it  will  not  admit  the  convenient  adjust- 
ment of  modern  sashes  and  glass,  hold  for  an  instant.  There 
is  not  the  smallest  necessity,  because  the  arch  is  pointed,  that 

as  dressings  to  the  upper  windows.  The  roof  is  formed  by  girders  and 
4£-brick  arches  in  cement,  covered  with  asphalt  to  form  a  flat.  The 
failure  is  attributed  to  the  quantity  of  rain  which  has  fallen.  Others 
suppose  that  some  of  the  girders  were  defective,  and  gave  way,  carrying 
the  walls  with  them."— Builder,  for  January  29th,  1853.  The  rest  of 
this  volume  might  be  filled  with  such  notices,  if  we  sought  for  them. 


GOTHIC  PALACES. 


2.09 


the  aperture  should  be  so.  The  work  of  the  arch  is  to  sustain 
the  building  above  ;  when  this  is  once  done  securely,  the 
pointed  head  of  it  may  be  filled  in  any  way  we  choose.  In 
the  best  cathedral  doors  it  is  always  filled  by  a  shield  of  solid 
stone  ;  in  many  early  windows  of  the  best  Gothic  it  is  filled  in 
the  same  manner,  the  introduced  slab  of  stone  becoming  a 
field  for  rich  decoration  ;  and  there  is  not  the  smallest  reason 
why  lancet  windows,  used  in  bold  groups,  with  each  pointed 
arch  filled  by  a  sculptured  tympanum,  should  not  allow  as 
much  light  to  enter,  and  in  as  convenient  a  way,  as  the  most 
luxuriously  glazed  square  windows  of  our  brick  houses.  Give 
the  groups  of  associated  lights  bold  gabled  canopies  ;  charge 
the  gables  with  sculpture  and  color  ;  and  instead  of  the  base 
and  almost  useless  Greek  portico,  letting  the  rain  and  wind 
enter  it  at  will,  build  the  steeply  vaulted  and  completely  shel- 
tered Gothic  porch  ;  and  on  all  these  fields  for  rich  decoration 
let  the  common  workman  carve  what  he  pleases,  to  the  best 
of  his  power,  and  we  may  have  a  school  of  domestic  architect- 
ure in  the  nineteenth  century,  which  will  make  our  children 
grateful  to  us,  and  proud  of  us,  till  the  thirtieth. 

§  l.  There  remains  only  one  important  feature  to  be  ex- 
amined, the  entrance  gate  or  door.  We  have  already  observed 
that  the  one  seems  to  pass  into  the  other,  a  sign  of  increased 
love  of  privacy  rather  than  of  increased  humility,  as  the  Gothic 
palaces  assume  their  perfect  form.  In  the  Byzantine  palaces 
the  entrances  appear  always  to  have  been  rather  great  gates 
than  doors,  magnificent  semicircular  arches  opening  to  the 
water,  and  surrounded  by  rich  sculpture  in  the  archivolts. 
One  of  these  entrances  is  seen  in  the  small  wood-cut  above, 
Fig.  XXV.,  and  another  has  been  given  carefully  in  my  folio 
work  :  their  sculpture  is  generally  of  grotesque  animals  scat- 
tered among  leafage,  without  any  definite  meaning  ;  but  the 
great  outer  entrance  of  St.  Mark's,  which  appears  to  have  been 
completed  some  time  after  the  rest  of  the  fabric,  differs  from 
all  others  in  presenting  a  series  of  subjects  altogether  Gothic 
in  feeling,  selection,  and  vitality  of  execution,  and  which  show 
the  occult  entrance  of  the  Gothic  spirit  before  it  had  yet  suc- 
ceeded in  effecting  any  modification  of  the  Byzantine  forms. 


570 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


These  sculptures  represent  the  months  of  the  year  employed 
m  the  avocations  usually  attributed  to  them  throughout  the 
whole  compass  of  the  middle  ages,  in  Northern  architecture 
and  manuscript  calendars,  and  at  last  exquisitely  versified  by 
Spenser.  For  the  sake  of  the  traveller  in.  Venice,  who  should 
examine  this  archivolt  carefully,  I  shall  enumerate  these  sculpt- 
ures in  their  order,  noting  such  parallel  representations  as  I 
remember  in  other  work. 

§  li.  There  are  four  successive  archivolts,  one  within  the 
uther,  forming  the  great  central  entrance  of  St.  Mark's.  The 
first  is  a  magnificent  external  arch,  formed  of  obscure  figures 
mingled  among  masses  of  leafage,  as  in  ordinary  Byzantine 
work  ;  within  this  there  is  a  hemispherical  dome,  covered  with 
modern  mosaic  ;  and  at  the  back  of  this  recess  the  other  three 
archivolts  follow  consecutively,  two  sculptured,  one  plain  ;  the 
one  with  which  we  are  concerned  is  the  outermost. 

It  is  carved  both  on  its  front  and  under-surface  or  soffit  ; 
on  the  front  are  seventeen  female  figures  bearing  scrolls,  from 
which  the  legends  are  unfortunately  effaced.  These  figures 
were  once  gilded  on  a  dark  blue  ground,  as  may  still  be  seen 
in  Gentile  Bellini's  picture  of  St.  Mark's  in  the  Accademia 
delle  Belie  Arti.  The  sculptures  of  the  months  are  on  the 
under  surface,  beginning  at  the  bottom  on  the  left  hand  of  the 
spectator  as  he  enters,  and  following  in  succession  round  the 
archivolt  ;  separated,  however,  into  two  groups,  at  its  centre, 
by  a  beautiful  figure  of  the  youthful  Christ,  sitting  in  the 
midst  of  a  slightly  hollowed  sphere  covered  with  stars  to  rep- 
resent the  firmament,  and  with  the  attendant  sun  and  moon, 
set  one  on  each  side  to  rule  over  the  day  and  over  the 
night. 

§  Ln.  The  months  are  personified  as  follows  : — 
1.  Januahy.  Carrying  home  a  noble  tree  on  his  shoulders,  the 
leafage  of  which  nods  forwards,  and  falls  nearly  to  Ids  feel. 
Superbly  cut.  This  is  a  rare  representation  of  him.  More 
frequently  he  is  represented  as  the  two-headed  Janus,  sitting 
at  a  table,  drinking  at  one  mouth  and  eating  at  the  other. 
Sometimes  as  an  old  man,  warming  his  feet  at  a  fire,  and 
drinking  from  a  bowl ;  though  this  type  is  generally  reserved 


GOTHIC  PALACES. 


271 


for  February.    Spenser,  however,  gives  the  same  S}anbol  as 
that  on  St.  Mark's  : 

"  Isumbd  with  holding  all  the  day 
An  hatchet  keene,  with  which  he  felled  wood." 

His  sign,  Aquarius,  is  obscurely  indicated  in  the  archivolt 
by  some  wavy  lines  representing  water,  unless  the  figure  has 
been  broken  away. 

2.  February.  Sitting  in  a  carved  chair,  warming  his  bare  feet 
at  a  blazing  fire.  Generally,  when  he  is  thus  represented, 
there  is  a  pot  hung  over  the  fire,  from  tho  top  of  the  chimney. 
Sometimes  he  is  pruning  trees,  as  in  Spenser  : 

"  Yet  had  he  by  his  side 
His  plough  and  ham  esse  fit  to  till  tho  ground, 
And  tooles  to  prune  the  trees." 

Not  unfrequently,  in  the  calendars,  this  month  is  represented 
by  a  female  figure  carrying  candles,  in  honor  of  the  Purifica- 
tion of  the  Virgin. 

His  sign,  Pisces,  is  prominently  carved  above  him. 

3.  March.  Here,  as  almost  always  in  Italy,  a  warrior :  the 
Mars  of  the  Latins  being  of  course,  in  mediseval  work,  made 
representative  of  the  military  power  of  the  place  and  period ; 
and  thus,  at  Venice,  having  the  winged  Lion  painted  upon 
his  shield.  In  Northern  work,  however,  I  think  March  is 
commonly  employed  in  pruning  trees ;  or,  at  least,  he  is  so 
when  that  occupation  is  left  free  for  him  by  February's  being 
engaged  with  the  ceremonies  of  Candlemas.  Sometimes,  also, 
lie  is  reaping  a  low  and  scattered  kind  of  grain  ;  and  by 
Spenser,  who  exactly  marks  the  junction  of  mediaeval  and 
classical  feeling,  his  military  and  agricultural  functions  are 
united,  while  also,  in  the  Latin  manner,  he  is  made  the  first  of 
the  months. 

"  First  sturdy  March,  with  brows  full  sternly  bent, 
And  armed  strongly,  rode  upon  a  Ram, 
The  same  which  over  Hollespontus  swam  ; 
Yet  in  his  hand  a  spade  he  also  hont, 
And  in  a  bag  all  sorts  of  seeds  ysame,* 
Which  on  the  earth  he  strowed  as  he  weu.t.Jt 

*  i 4  Ysame,''  coil<  cted  together, 

^ 


272 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


His  sign,  the  Ram,  is  very  superbly  carved  above  him  ii? 
the  archivolt. 

4.  April.  Here,  carrying  a  sheep  upon  his  shoulder.  A 
rare  representation  of  him.  In  Northern  work  he  is  almost 
universally  gathering  flowers,  or  holding  them  triumphantly 
in  each  hand.  The  Spenserian  mingling  of  this  mediaeval 
image  with  that  of  his  being  wet  with  showers,  and  wanton 
with  love,  by  turning  his  zodiacal  sign,  Taurus,  into  the  bull 
of  Europa,  is  altogether  exquisite.  , 

"Upon  a  Bull  he  rode,  the  same  which  led 
Europa  floating  through  the  Argolick  fluds : 
His  horns  were  gilden  all  with  golden  studs, 
And  garnished  with  garlonds  goodly  dight 
Of  all  the  fairest  flowres  and  freshest  buds 
Which  th'  earth  brings  forth  ;  and  wet  he  seemed  in  sight 
With  waves,  through  which  he  waded  for  his  love's  delight." 

5.  May  is  seated,  while  two  young  maidens  crown  him  with 
flowers.  A  very  unusual  representation,  even  in  Italy  ;  where, 
as  in  the  North,  he  is  almost  always  riding  out  hunting  or 
hawking,  sometimes  playing  on  a  musical  instrument.  In 
Spenser,  this  month  is  personified  as  "  the  fayrest  mayd  on 
ground,"  borne  on  the  shoulders  of  the  Twins. 

In  this  archivolt  there  are  only  two  heads  to  represent  the 
zodiacal  sign. 

The  summer  and  autumnal  months  are  always  represented 
in  a  series  of  agricultural  occupations,  which,  of  course,  vary 
with  the  locality  in  which  they  occur  ;  but  generally  in  their 
order  only.  Thus,  if  June  is  mowing,  July  is  reaping  ;  if 
July  is  mowing,  August  is  reaping  ;  and  so  on.  I  shall  give 
a  parallel  view  of  some  of  these  varieties  presently  ;  but,  mean- 
time, we  had  better  follow  the  St.  Mark's  series,  as  it  is  pecu- 
liar in  some  respects. 

6.  June.  Reaping.  The  corn  and  sickle  sculptured  with 
singular  care  and  precision,  in  bold  relief,  and  the  zodiacal 
sign,  the  Crab,  above,  also  worked  with  great  spirit.  Spenser 
puts  plough  irons  into  his  hand.  Sometimes  he  is  sheep- 
shearing  ;  and,  in  English  and  northern  French  manuscripts, 


GOTHIC  PALACES. 


273 


dairying  a  kind  of  fagot  or  barrel,  of  the  meaning  of  which  I 
am  not  certain. 

7.  July.  Mowing.  A  very  interesting  piece  of  sculpture, 
owing  to  the  care  with  which  the  flowers  are  wrought  cut 
among  the  long  grass.  I  do  not  remember  ever  finding  July 
but  either  reaping  or  mowing.  Spenser  works  him  hard,  and 
puts  him  to  both  labors  : 

"  Behinde  his  backe  a  sithe,  and  by  his  side 
Under  his  belt  he  bore  a  sickle  circling  wide." 

8.  August.  Peculiarly  represented  in  this  archivolt,  sitting 
in  a  chair,  with  his  head  upon  his  hand,  as  if '  asleep  ;  the  Virgin 
(the  zodiacal  sign)  above  him.,  lifting  up  her  hand.  This  ap- 
pears to  be  a  peculiarly  Italian  version  of  the  proper  employ- 
ment of  August.  In  Northern  countries  he  is  generally 
threshing,  or  gathering  grapes.  Spenser  merely  clothes  him 
with  gold,  and  makes  him  lead  forth 

"the  righteous  Virgin,  which  of  old 
Lived  here  on  earth,  and  plenty  made  abound." 

9.  September.  Bearing  home  grapes  in  a  basket.  Almost 
always  sowing,  in  Northern  work.  By  Spenser,  with  his 
usual  exquisite  ingenuity,  employed  in  gathering  in  the 
general  harvest,  and  portioning  it  out  with  the  Scales,  his 
zodiacal  sign. 

10.  October.  Wearing  a  conical  hat,  and  digging  busily  with 
a  long  spade.  In  Northern  work  he  is  sometimes  a  vintager, 
sometimes  beating  the  acorns  out  of  an  oak  to  feed  swine. 
When  September  is  vintaging,  October  is  generally  sowing, 
Spenser  employs  him  in  the  harvest  both  of  vine  and  olive. 

11.  November.  Seems  to  be  catching  small  birds  in  a  net. 
I  do  not  remember  him  so  employed  elsewhere.  He  is  nearly 
always  killing  pigs  ;  sometimes  beating  the  oak  for  them ; 
with  Spenser,  fatting  them. 

12.  December.  Killing  swine.  It  is  hardly  ever  that  this* 
employment  is  not  given  to  one  or  other  of  the  terminal 

You  IL— 18 


274 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE 


months  of  the  year.  If  not  so  engaged,  December  is  usually 
putting  new  loaves  into  the  oven  ;  sometimes  killing  oxen. 
Spenser  properly  makes  him  feasting  and  drinking  instead  of 
January. 

§  LHi.  On  the  next  page  I  have  given  a  parallel  view  of  the 
employment  of  the  months  from  some  Northern  manuscripts, 
in  order  that  they  may  be  more  conveniently  compared  with 
the  sculptures  of  St.  Mark's,  in  their  expression  of  the  varie- 
ties of  climate  and  agricultural  system.  Observe  that  the 
letter  (f.)  in  some  of  the  columns,  opposite  the  month  of  May, 
means  that  he  has  a  falcon  on  his  fist ;  being,  in  those  cases, 
represented  as  riding  out,  in  high  exultation,  on  a  caparisoned 
white  horse.  A  series  nearly  similar  to  that  of  St.  Mark's 
occurs  on  the  door  of  the  Cathedral  of  Lucca,  and  on  that 
of  the  Baptistery  of  Pisa ;  in  which,  however,  if  I  recollect 
rightly,  February  is  fishing,  and  May  has  something  resem- 
bling an  umbrella  in  his  hand,  instead  of  a  hawk.  But,  in  all 
cases,  the  figures  are  treated  with  the  peculiar  spirit  of  the 
Gothic  sculptors  ;  and  this  archivolt  is  the  first  expression  of 
that  spirit  which  is  to  be  found  in  Venice. 

§  liv.  In  the  private  palaces,  the  entrances  soon  admitted 
some  concession  to  the  Gothic  form  also.  They  pass  through 
nearly  the  same  conditions  of  change  as  the  windows,  with 
these  three  differences  :  first,  that  no  arches  of  the  fantastic 
fourth  order  occur  in  any  doorways  ;  secondly,  that  the  pure 
pointed  arch  occurs  earlier,  and  much  oftener,  in  doorways 
than  in  window-heads  ;  lastly,  that  the  entrance  itself,  if  small, 
is  nearly  always  square-headed  in  the  earliest  examples,  with- 
out any  arch  above,  but  afterwards  the  arch  is  thrown  across 
above  the  lintel.  The  interval  between  the  two,  or  tympanum, 
is  filled  with  sculpture,  or  closed  by  iron  bars,  with  sometimes 
a  projecting  gable,  to  form  a  porch,  thrown  over  the  whole,  as 
in  the  perfect  example,  7  a,  Plate  XIV.,  above.  The  other 
examples  in  the  two  lower  lines,  6  and  7,  of  that  Plate  are 
each  characteristic  of  an  enormous  number  of  doors,  variously 
decorated,  from  the  thirteenth  to  the  close  of  the  fifteenth 
century.  The  particulars  of  their  mouldings  are  given  in  the? 
final  Appendix. 


GOTHIC  PALACES. 


275 


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5  S 


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P     3  H 


0>  <rt 


c  .5 


o 


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o 


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o 


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« 


<1 


276 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


§  lv.  It  was  useless,  on  the  small  scale  of  this  Plate,  to 
attempt  any  delineation  of  the  richer  sculptures  with  which 
the  arches  are  filled  ;  so  that  I  have  chosen  for  it  the  simplest 
examples  I  could  find  of  the  forms  to  be  illustrated :  but,  in 
all  the  more  important  instances,  the  door-head  is  charged 
either  with  delicate  ornaments  and  inlaid  patterns  in  various- 
ly colored  brick,  or  with  sculptures,  consisting  always  of  the 
shield  or  crest  of  the  family,  protected  by  an  angel.  Of  these 
more  perfect  doorways  I  have  given  three  examples  carefully, 
in  my  folio  work  ;  but  I  must  repeat  here  one  part  of  the  ac- 
count of  their  subjects  given  in  its  text,  for  the  convenience  of 
those  to  whom  the  larger  work  may  not  be  accessible. 

§  lvi.  "  In  the  earlier  ages,  all  agree  thus  far,  that  the  name 
of  the  family  is  told,  and  together  with  it  there  is  always  an 
intimation  that  they  have  placed  their  defence  and  their  pros- 
perity in  God's  hands  ;  frequently  accompanied  with  some 
general  expression  of  benediction  to  the  person  passing  over 
the  threshold.  This  is  the  general  theory  of  an  old  Venetian 
doorway  ; — the  theory  of  modern  doorways  remains  to  be  ex- 
plained :  it  may  be  studied  to  advantage  in  our  rows  of  new- 
built  houses,  or  rather  of  new-built  house,  changeless  for  miles 
together,  from  which,  to  each  inhabitant,  we  allot  his  proper 
quantity  of  windows,  and  a  Doric  portico.  The  Venetian 
carried  out  his  theory  very  simply.  In  the  centre  of  the 
archivolt  we  find  almost  invariably,  in  the  older  work,  the 
hand  between  the  sun  and  moon  in  the  attitude  of  blessing, 
expressing  the  general  power  and  presence  of  God,  the  source 
of  light.  On  the  tympanum  is  the  shield  of  the  family.  Vene- 
tian heraldry  requires  no  beasts  for  supporters,  but  usually 
prefers  angels,  neither  the  supporters  nor  crests  forming  any 
necessary  part  of  Venetian  bearings.  Sometimes,  however, 
human  figures,  or  grotesques,  are  substituted  ;  but,  in  that 
case,  an  angel  is  almost  always  introduced  above  the  shield, 
bearing  a  globe  in  his  left  hand,  and  therefore  clearly  intended 
for  the  c  Angel  of  the  Lord/  or,  as  it  is  expressed  elsewhere, 
the  c  Angel  of  His  Presence/  Where  elaborate  sculpture  of 
this  kind  is  inadmissible,  the  shield  is  merely  represented  as 
suspended  by  a  leather  thong  ;  and  a  cross  is  introduced  above 


GOTHIC  PALACES. 


the  archivolt.  The  Renaissance  architects  perceived  the  irra- 
tionality of  all  this,  cut  away  both  crosses  and  angels,  and 
substituted  heads  of  satyrs,  which  were  the  proper  presiding 
deities  of  Venice  in  the  Renaissance  periods,  and  which  in  our 
own  domestic  institutions,  we  have  ever  since,  with  much  piety 
and  sagacity,  retained." 

§  lvii.  The  habit  of  employing  some  religious  symbol,  or 
writing  some  religious  legend,  over  the  door  of  the  house, 
does  not  entirely  disappear  until  far  into  the  period  of  the 
Renaissance.  The  words  "  Peace  be  to  this  house"  occur  on 
one  side  of  a  Veronese  gateway,  with  the  appropriate  and 
veracious  inscription  S.P.Q.R.,  on  a  Roman  standard,  on  the 
other  ;  and  "Blessed  is  he  that  cometh  in  the  name  of  the 
Lord,"  is  written  on  one  of  the  doorways  of  a  building  added 
at  the  flank  of  the  Casa  Barbarigo,  in  the  sixteenth  or  seven- 
teenth century.  It  seems  to  be  only  modern  Protestantism 
which  is  entirely  ashamed  of  all  symbols  and  words  that  ap- 
pear in  anywise  like  a  confession  of  faith. 

§  lviii.  This  peculiar  feeling  is  well  worthy  of  attentive 
analysis.  It  indeed,  in  most  cases,  hardly  deserves  the  name 
of  a  feeling  ;  for  the  meaningless  doorway  is  merely  an  ig- 
norant copy  of  heathen  models  :  but  yet,  if  it  were  at  this 
moment  proposed  to  any  of  us,  by  our  architects,  to  remove 
the  grinning  head  of  a  satyr,  or  other  classical  or  Palladian 
ornament,  from  the  keystone  of  the  door,  and  to  substitute 
for  it  a  cross,  and  an  inscription  testifying  our  faith,  I  believe 
that  most  persons  would  shrink  from  the  proposal  with  an 
obscure  and  yet  overwhelming  sense  that  things  would  be 
sometimes  done,  and  thought,  within  the  house  which  would 
make  the  inscription  on  its  gate  a  base  hypocrisy.  And  if  so, 
let  us  look  to  it,  whether  that  strong  reluctance  to  utter  a 
definite  religious  profession,  which  so  many  of  us  feel,  and 
which,  not  very  carefully  examining  into  its  dim  nature,  we 
conclude  to  be  modesty,  or  fear  of  hypocrisy,  or  other  such 
form  of  amiableness,  be  not,  in  very  deed,  neither  less  nor 
more  than  Infidelity  ;  whether, Peter's  " I  know  not  the  man" 
be  not  the  sum  and  substance  of  all  these  misgivings  and  hesi- 
tations ;  and  whether  the  shamefacedness  which  we  attribute 


278 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


to  sincerity  and  reverence,  be  not  such  shamefacedness  as  may 
at  last  put  us  among  those  of  whom  the  Son  of  Man  shall  be 
ashamed. 

§  lix.  Such  are  the  principal  circumstances  to  be  noted  in 
the  external  form  and  details  of  the  Gothic  palaces  ;  of  their 
interior  arrangements  there  is  little  left  unaltered.  The  gate- 
ways which  we  have  been  examining  almost  universally  lead, 
in  the  earlier  palaces,  into  a  long  interior  court,  round  which 
the  mass  of  the  palace  is  built ;  and  in  which  its  first  story  is 
reached  by  a  superb  external  staircase,  sustained  on  four  or 
five  pointed  arches  gradually  increasing  as  they  ascend,  both 
in  height  and  span, — this  change  in  their  size  being,  so  far  as 
I  remember,  peculiar  to  Venice,  and  visibly  a  consequence  of 
the  habitual  admission  of  arches  of  different  sizes  in  the  By- 
zantine facades.  These  staircases  are  protected  by  exquisitely 
carved  parapets,  like  those  of  the  outer  balconies,  with  lions 
or  grotesque  heads  set  on  the  angles,  and  with  true  projecting 
balconies  on  their  landing-places.  In  the  centre  of  the  court 
there  is  always  a  marble  well ;  and  these  wells  furnish  some 
of  the  most  superb  examples  of  Venetian  sculpture.  I  am 
aware  only  of  one  remaining  from  the  Byzantine  period  ;  it  is 
octagonal,  and  treated  like  the  richest  of  our  Norman  fonts  : 
but  the  Gothic  wells  of  every  date,  from  the  thirteenth  cen- 
tury downwards,  are  innumerable,  and  full  of  beauty,  though 
their  form  is  little  varied  ;  they  being,  in  almost  every  case, 
treated  like  colossal  capitals  of  pillars,  with  foliage  at  the 
angles,  and  the  shield  of  the  family  upon  their  sides. 

§  lx.  The  interior  apartments  always  consist  of  one  noble 
hall  on  the  first  story,  often  on  the  second  also,  extending 
across  the  entire  depth  of  the  house,  and  lighted  in  front  by 
the  principal  groups  of  its  windows,  while  smaller  apartments 
open  from  it  on  either  side.  The  ceilings,  where  they  remain 
untouched,  are  of  bold  horizontal  beams,  richly  carved  and 
gilded  ;  but  few  of  these  are  left  from  the  true  Gothic  times, 
the  Venetian  interiors  having,  in  almost  every  case,  been  re- 
modelled by  the  Renaissance  architects.  This  change,  how- 
ever, for  once,  we  cannot  regret,  as  the  walls  and  ceilings, 
when  so  altered,  were  covered  with  the  noblest  works  of 


TIIl'J  DUCAL  PALACE. 


279 


Veronese,  Titian,  and  Tintoret  ;  nor  the  interior  walls  only, 
but,  as  before  noticed,  often  the  exteriors  also.  Of  the  color 
decorations  of  the  Gothic  exteriors  I  have,  therefore,  at  pres- 
ent taken  no  notice,  as  it  will  be  more  convenient  to  embrace 
this  subject  in  one  general  view  of  the  systems  of  coloring 
of  the  Venetian  palaces,  when  we  arrive  at  the  period  of  its 
richest  development.*  The  details,  also,  of  most  interest,  re- 
specting the  forms  and  transitional  decoration  of  their  capi- 
tals, will  be  given  in  the  final  Appendix  to  the  next  volume, 
where  we  shall  be  able  to  include  in  our  inquiry  the  whole 
extent  of  the  Gothic  period  ;  and  it  remains  for  us,  therefore, 
at  present,  only  to  review  the  history,  fix  the  date,  and  note 
the  most  important  particulars  in  the  structure  of  the  build- 
ing which  at  once  consummates  and  embodies  the  entire  sys- 
tem of  the  Gothic  architecture  of  Venice, — the  Ducal  Palace. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  DUCAL  PALACE. 

§  i.  It  was  stated  in  the  commencement  of  the  preceding 
chapter  that  the  Gothic  art  of  Venice  was  separated  by  the 
building  of  the  Ducal  Palace  into  two  distinct  periods  ;  and 
that  in  all  the  domestic  edifices  which  were  raised  for  half  a 
century  after  its  completion,  their  characteristic  and  chiefly 
effective  portions  were  more  or  less  directly  copied  from  it. 
The  fact  is,  that  the  Ducal  Palace  was  the  great  work  of 
Venice  at  this  period,  itself  the  principal  effort  of  her  imag- 
ination, employing  her  best  architects  in  its  masonry,  and  her 
best  painters  in  its  decoration,  for  a  long  series  of  years  ; 
and  we  must  receive  it  as  a  remarkable  testimony  to  the  in- 
fiuence  which  it  possessed  over  the  minds  of  those  who  saw  it 
in  its  progress,  that,  while  in  the  other  cities  of  Italy  every 
palace  and  church  was  rising  in  some  original  and  daily  more 

*  Vol.  III.  Chap.  I.  I  have  had  considerable  difficulty  in  the  arrange- 
•pient  of  these  volumes,  so  as  to  get  the  points  hearing  upon  each  other 
grouped  in  consecutive  and  intelligible  order. 


280 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


daring  form,  the  majesty  of  this  single  building  was  able  to 
give  pause  to  the  Gothic  imagination  in  its  full  career  ;  stayed 
the  restlessness  of  innovation  in  an  instant,  and  forbade  the 
powers  which  had  created  it  thenceforth  to  exert  themselves 
in  new  directions,  or  endeavor  to  summon  an  image  more 
attractive. 

§  ii.  The  reader  will  hardly  believe  that  while  the  architect- 
ural invention  of  the  Venetians-  wTas  thus  lost,  Narcissus-like, 
in  self-contemplation,  the  various  accounts  of  the  progress  of 
the  building  thus  admired  and  beloved  are  so  confused  as 
frequently  to  leave  it  doubtful  to  what  portion  of  the  palace 
they  refer  ;  and  that  there  is  actually,  at  the  time  being,  a 
dispute  between  the  best  Venetian  antiquaries,  whether  the 
main  facade  of  the  palace  be  of  the  fourteenth  or  fifteenth 
century.  The  determination  of  this  question  is  of  course 
necessary  before  we  proceed  to  draw  any  conclusions  from 
the  style  of  the  work  ;  and  it  cannot  be  determined  without  a 
careful  review  of  the  entire  history  of  the  palace,  and  of  all 
the  documents  relating  to  it.  I  trust  that  this  review  may 
not  be  found  tedious, — assuredly  it  will  not  be  fruitless, — 
bringing  many  facts  before  us,  singularly  illustrative  of  the 
Venetian  character. 

§  in.  Before,  however,  the  reader  can  enter  upon  any  in- 
quiry into  the  history  of  this  building,  it  is  necessary  that  he 
should  be  thoroughly  familiar  with  the  arrangement  and  names 
of  its  principal  parts,  as  it  at  present  stands  ;  otherwise  he  can* 
not  comprehend  so  much  as  a  single  sentence  of  any  of  the 
documents  referring  to  it.  I  must  do  what  I  can,  by  the  help 
of  a  rough  plan  and  bird's  eye  view,  to  give  him  the  necessary 
topographical  knowledge  : 

Fig.  XXXVI.  opposite  is  a  rude  ground  plan  of  the  build- 
ings round  St.  Mark's  Place  ;  and  the  following  references  wil] 
clearly  explain  their  relative  positions  : 

A.  St.  Mark's  Race. 

B.  Piazzetta. 

P.  V.  Procuratie  Vecchie. 

P.  N.  (opposite)  Procuratie  Nuov8, 

P.  L.  Libreria  Vecchia. 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE!. 


281 


I.  Piazzetta  de'  Leoni. 
T.  Tower  of  St.  Mark. 
F  F.  Great  Facade  of  St.  Mark's  Church. 

M.  St.  Mark's.  (It  is  so  united  with  the  Ducal  Palace,  that  the  separa* 
tion  cannot  be  indicated  in  the  plan,  unless  all  the  walls  had 
been  marked,  which  would  have  confused  the  whale.) 

DDD.  Ducal  Palace.  g  s.  Giant's  stair. 

C.  Court  of  Ducal  Palace.  J.  Judgment  angle. 

c.  Porta  della  Carta  a.  Fig-tree  angle. 

p  p.  Ponte  delia  Paglia  (Bridge  of  Straw). 

S.  Ponte  de'  Sospiri  (Bridge  of  Sighs). 

R  B,.  Riva  de'  Schiavoni. 

The  reader  will  observe  that  the  Ducal  Palace  is  arranged 
somewhat  in  the  form  of  a  hollow  square,  of  which  one  side 
faces  the  Piazzetta,  B,  and  another  the  quay  called  the  Kiva 
de'  Schiavoni,  R  R  ;  the  third  is  on  the  dark  canal  called  the 
"  Rio  del  Piilazzo,"  and  the  fourth  joins  the  Church  of  St.  Mark. 

Of  this  fourth  side,  therefore,  nothing  can  be  seen.  Of  the 
other  three  sides  we  shall  have  to  speak  constantly  ;  and  they 
will  be  respectively  called,  that  towards  the  Piazzetta,  the 
"  Piazzetta  Facade  ; "  that  towards  the  Riva  de'  Schiavoni,  the 
"  Sea  Facade  ; "  and  that  towards  the  Rio  del  Palazzo,  the 
"  Rio  Facade."  This  Rio,  or  canal,  is  usually  looked  upon  by 
the  traveller  with  great  respect,  or  even  horror,  because  it 
passes  under  the  Bridge  of  Sighs.  It  is,  however,  one  of  the 
principal  thoroughfares  of  the  city  ;  and  the  bridge  and  its 
canal  together  occupy,  in  the  mind  of  a  Venetian,  very  much 
the  position  of  Fleet  Street  and  Temple  Bar  in  that  of  a  Lon- 
doner,— at  least,  at  the  time  when  Temple  Bar  was  occasionally 
decorated  with  human  heads.  The  two  buildings  closely  re- 
semble each  other  in  form. 

§  iv.  We  must  now  proceed  to  obtain  some  rough  idea  of 
the  appearance  and  distribution  of  the  palace  itself ;  but  its 
arrangement  will  be  better  understood  by  supposing  ourselves 
raised  some  hundred  and  fifty  feet  above  the  point  in  the 
lagoon  in  front  of  it,  so  as  to  get  a  general  view  of  the  Sea 
Facade  and  Rio  Facade  (the  latter  in  very  steep  perspective), 
and  to  look  down  into  its  interior  court.  Fig.  XXXVII.  roughly 
represents  such  a  view,  omitting  all  details  on  the  roofs,  in  ordei 


282 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


to  avoid  confusion.  In  this  drawing  we  have  merely  to  noiica 
that,  of  the  two  bridges  seen  on  the  right,  the  uppermost, 
above  the  black  canal,  is  the  Bridge  of  Sighs  ;  the  lower  one 
is  the  Ponte  dell  a  Paglia,  the  regular  thoroughfare  from  quay 
to  quay,  and,  I  believe,  called  the  Bridge  of  Straw,  because 
the  boats  which  brought  straw  from  the  mainland  used  to  sell 
it  at  this  place.  The  corner  of  the  palace,  rising  above  this 
bridge,  and  formed  by  the  meeting  of  the  Sea  Facade  and  Bio 
Facade,  will  always  be  called  the  Vine  angle,  because  it  is  dec- 
orated by  a  sculpture  of  the  drunkenness  of  Noah.  The  angle 
opposite  will  be  called  the  Fig-tree  angle,  because  it  is  dec- 
orated by  a  sculpture  of  the  Fall  of  Man.  The  long  and  nar- 
row range  of  building,  of  which  the  roof  is  seen  in  perspective 
behind  this  angle,  is  the  part  of  the  palace  fronting  the  Piaz- 
zetta  ;  and  the  angle  under  the  pinnacle  most' to  the  left  of 
the  two  which  terminate  it  will  be  called,  for  a  reason  pres- 
ently to  be  stated,  the  Judgment  angle.  Within  the  square 
formed  by  the  building  is  seen  its  interior  court  (with  one  of 
its  wells),  terminated  by  small  and  fantastic  buildings  of  the 
Benaissance  period,  which  face  the  Giant's  Stair,  of  which  the 
extremity  is  seen  sloping  down  on  the  left. 

§  v.  The  great  facade  which  fronts  the  spectator  looks  south- 
ward. Hence  the  two  traceriecf  windows  lower  than  the  rest, 
and  to  the  right  of  the  spectator,  may  be  conveniently  distin- 
guished as  the  "Eastern  Windows."  There  are  twro  others 
like  them,  filled  with  tracery,  and  at  the  same  level,  which 
look  upon  the  narrow  canal  between  the  Ponte  della  Paglia 
and  the  Bridge  of  Sighs :  these  we  may  conveniently  call  the 
" Canal  Windows."  The  reader  will  observe  a  vertical  line  in 
this  dark  side  of  the  palace,  separating  its  nearer  and  plainer 
wall  from  a  long  four-storied  range  of  rich  architecture.  This 
more  distant  range  is  entirely  Benaissance  :  its  extremity  is 
not  indicated,  because  I  have  no  accurate  sketch  of  the  small 
buildings  and  bridges  beyond  it,  and  we  shall  have  nothing 
whatever  to  do  with  this  part  of  the  palace  in  our  present  in- 
quiry. The  nearer  and  undecorated  wall  is  part  of  the  older 
palace,  though  much  defaced  by  modern  opening  of  common 
windows,  refittings  of  the  brickwork,  &c. 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE, 


283 


§  vi.  It  will  be  observed  that  the  facade  is  composed  of  a 
smooth  mass  of  wall,  sustained  on  two  tiers  of  pillars,  one 
above  the  other.  The  manner  in  which  these  support  the 
whole  fabric  wTill  be  understood  at  once  by  the  rough  section, 
fig.  XXXVIII.,  which  is  supposed  to  be  taken 
right  through  the  palace  to  the  interior  court, 
from  near  the  middle  of  the  Sea  Facade. 
Here  a  and  d  are  the  rows  of  shafts,  both  in 
the  inner  court  and  on  the  Facade,  which 
carry  the  main  wTalls ;  b,  c  are  solid  walls 
variously  strengthened  with  pilasters.  A,  B, 
C  are  the  three  stories  of  the  interior  of  the   ■*  b        e  A 

!  Fig.  XXXVIII. 

palace. 

The  reader  sees  that  it  is  impossible  for  any  plan  to  be 
more  simple,  and  that  if  the  inner  floors  and  walls  of  the  stories 
A,  B  were  removed,  there  would  be  left  merely  the  form  of  a 
basilica, — two  high  walls,  carried  on  ranges  of  shafts,  and 
roofed  by  a  low  gable. 

The  stories  A,  B  are  entirely  modernized,  and  divided  into 
confused  ranges  of  small  apartments,  among  which  what  ves- 
tiges remain  of  ancient  masonry  are  entirely  undecipherable, 
except  by  investigations  such  as  I  have  had  neither  the  time 
nor,  as  in  most  cases  they  would  involve  the  removal  of  mod- 
ern plastering,  the  opportunity,  to  make.  With  the  subdivi- 
sions of  this  story,  therefore,  I  shall  not  trouble  the  reader  ; 
but  those  of  the  great  upper  story,  C,  are  highly  important. 

§  vn.  In  the  bird's-eye  view  above,  fig.  XXXVII. ,  it  will  be 
noticed  that  the  two  windows  on  the  right  are  lower  than  the 
other  four  of  the  facade.  In  this  arrangement  there  is  one  of 
the  most  remarkable  instances  I  know  of  the  daring  sacrifice 
of  symmetry  to  convenience,  which  was  noticed  in  Chap.  VII. 
as  one  of  the  chief  noblenesses  of  the  Gothic  schools. 

The  part  of  the  palace  in  which  the  two  lower  windows 
occur,  we  shall  find,  wras  first  built,  and  arranged  in  four  stories 
in  order  to  obtain  the  necessary  number  of  apartments.  Owing 
to  circumstances,  of  which  we  shall  presently  give  an  account 
it  became  necessary,  in  the  beginning  of  the  fourteenth  cen- 
tury, to  provide  another  large  and  magnificent  chamber  for 


284 


TEE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


the  meeting  of  the  senate.  That  chamber  was  added  at  the 
side  of  the  older  building  ;  but,  as  only  one  room  was  wanted, 
there  was  no  need  to  divide  the  added  portion  into  two  sto- 
ries. The  entire  height  was  given  to  the  single  chamber, 
being  indeed  not  too  great  for  just  harmony  with  its  enor- 
mous length  and  breadth.  And  then  came  the  question  how 
to  place  the  windows,  whether  on  a  line  with  the  two  others, 
or  above  them. 

The  ceiling  of  the  new  room  was  to  be  adorned  by  the 
paintings  of  the  best  masters  in  Venice,  and  it  became  of 
great  importance  to  raise  the  light  near  that  gorgeous  roof,  as 
well  as  to  keep  the  tone  of  illumination  in  the  Council  Cham- 
ber serene  ;  and  therefore  to  introduce  light  rather  in  simple 
masses  than  in  many  broken  streams.  A  modern  architect, 
terrified  at  the  idea  of  violating  external  symmetry,  would 
have  sacrificed  both  the  pictures  and  the  peace  of  the  council. 
He  would  have  placed  the  larger  windows  at  the  same  level 
with  the  other  two,  and  have  introduced  above  them  smaller 
windows,  like  those  of  the  upper  story  in  the  older  building, 
as  if  that  upper  story  had  been  continued  along  the  facade. 
But  the  old  Venetian  thought  of  the  honor  of  the  paintings, 
and  the  comfort  of  the  senate,  before  his  own  reputation. 
He  unhesitatingly  raised  the  large  windows  to  their  proper 
position  with  reference  to  the  interior  of  the  chamber,  and 
suffered  the  external  appearance  to  take  care  of  itself.  And 
I  believe  the  whole  pile  rather  gains  than  loses  in  effect  by 
the  variation  thus  obtained  in  the  spaces  of  wall  above  and 
below  the  windows. 

§  vm.  On  the  party  wall,  between  the  second  and  third 
windows,  which  faces  the  eastern  extremity  of  the  Great 
Council  Chamber,  is  painted  the  Paradise  of  Tintoret ;  and 
this  wall  will  therefore  be  hereafter  called  the  "Wall  of  the 
Paradise." 

In  nearly  the  centre  of  the  Sea  Facade,  and  between  the 
first  and  second  windows  of  the  Great  Council  Chamber,  is  a 
large  window  to  the  ground,  opening  on  a  balcony,  which  is 
one  of  the  chief  ornaments  of  the  palace,  and  will  be  called 
in  future  the  "  Sea  Balcony." 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE. 


285 


The  fayade  which  looks  on  the  Piazetta  is  very  nearly  like 
this  to  the  Sea,  but  the  greater  part  of  it  was  built  in  the 
fifteenth  century,  when  people  had  become  studious  of  theiv 
symmetries.  Its  side  windows  are  all  on  the  same  level. 
Two  light  the  west  end  of  the  Great  Council  Chamber,  one 
lights  a  small  room  anciently  called  the  Quarantia  Civil 
Nuova  ;  the  other  three,  and  the  central  one,  with  a  balcony 
like  that  to  the  Sea,  light  another  large  chamber,  called  Sala 
del  Scrutinio,  or  4 'Hall  of  Enquiry,"  which  extends  to  the 
extremity  of  the  palace  above  the  Porta  della  Carta. 

§  ix.  The  reader  is  now  well  enough  acquainted  with  the 
topography  of  the  existing  building,  to  be  able  to  follow  the 
accounts  of  its  history. 

We  have  seen  above,  that  there  were  three  principal  styles 
of  Venetian  architecture  ;  Byzantine,  Gothic,  and  Renaissance. 

The  Ducal  Palace,  which  was  the  great  work  of  Venice, 
was  built  successively  in  the  three  styles.  There  was  a  By- 
zantine Ducal  Palace,  a  Gothic  Ducal  Palace,  and  a  Renais- 
sance Ducal  Palace.  The  second  superseded  the  first  totally  ; 
a  few  stones  of  it  (if  indeed  so  much)  are  all  that  is  left.  But 
the  third  superseded  the  second  in  part  only,  and  the  exist- 
ing building  is  formed  by  the  union  of  the  two. 

We  shall  review  the  history  of  each  in  succession.* 

1st.  The  Byzantine  Palace. 

In  the  year  of  the  death  of  Charlemagne,  813,  f  the  Vene- 

*  The  reader  will  find  it  convenient  to  note  the  following  editions  of 
the  printed  books  which  have  been  principally  consulted  in  the  follow- 
ing inquiry.  The  numbers  of  the  manuscripts  referred  to  in  the  Mar- 
cian  Library  are  given  with  the  quotations. 

Sansovino.    Venetia  Descritta.    4to,  Venice,  1663. 

Sansovino.    Lettera  intorno  al  Palazzo  Ducale.    8vo,  Venice,  1829, 

Temanza.    Antica  Pianta  di  V enezia,  with  text.    Venice,  1780. 

Cadorin.    Pareri  di  XV.  Architetti.    8vo,  Venice,  1838. 

Filiasi.    Memorie  storiche.    8vo,  Padua.  1811. 

Bettio.    Lettera  discorsiva  del  Palazzo  Ducale.    8vo,  Venice,  1837. 

Selvatico.    Architettura  di  Venezia.    8vo,  Venice,  1847. 

\  The  year  commonly  given  is  810,  as  in  the  Savina  Chronicle  (Cod. 
Marcianus),  p.  13.  * '  Del  810  f ece  principiar  el  pallazzo  Ducal  nel  luoga 

^ 


286 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


tians  determined  to  make  the  island  of  Rialto  the  seat  of  the 
government  and  capital  of  their  state.  Their  Doge,  Angelo 
or  Agnello  Participazio,  instantly  took  vigorous  means  for  the 
enlargement  of  the  small  group  of  buildings  which  were  to 
be  the  nucleus  of  the  future  Venice.  He  appointed  persons 
to  superintend  the  raising  of  the  banks  of  sand,  so  as  to  form 
more  secure  foundations,  and  to  build  wooden  bridges  over 
the  canals.  For  the  offices  of  religion,  he  built  the  Church 
of  St.  Mark  ;  and  on,  or  near,  the  spot  where  the  Ducal  Palace 
now  stands,  he  built  a  palace  for  the  administration  of  the 
government.* 

The  history  of  the  Ducal  Palace  therefore  begins  with  the 
birth  of  Venice,  and  to  what  remains  of  it,  at  this  day,  is  en- 
trusted the  last  representation  of  her  power. 

§  x.  Of  the  exact  position  and  form  of  this  palace  of  Par- 
ticipazio  little  is  ascertained.  Sansovino  says  that  it  was 
"  built  near  the  Ponte  della  Paglia,  and  answeringly  on  the 
Grand  Canal,"  f  towards  San  Giorgio  ;  that  is  to  say,  in  the 
place  now  occupied  by  the  Sea  Facade  ;  but  this  was  merely 

ditto  Bruolo  in  oonfin  cli  S.  Moise,  et  fece  riedificar  la  isola  di  Eraclia." 
The  Sagornin  Chronicle  gives  804;  and  Filiasi,  vol.  vi.  chap.  1,  corrects 
this  date  to  813. 

*  u  Amplio  la  eitta,  fomilla  di  casamenti,  e  per  il  culto  d?  IddioeV  am- 
ministrazione  della  giusiizia  eresse  la  cappella  di  S.  Marco,  e  ii  palazzo  di 
sua  residenza." — Pareri,  p.  120.  Observe,  that  piety  towards  God,  and 
justice  towards  man,  have  been  at  least  the  nominal  purposes  of  every 
act  and  institution  of  ancient  Venice.  Compare  also  Temanza,  p.  24. 
"  Quello  che  abbiamo  di  certo  si  h  che  il  suddetto  Agnello  lo  incomincio 
da  fondamenti,  e  cost  pure  la  cappella  ducale  di  S.  Marco." 

f  What  I  call  the  Sea,  was  called  "  the  Grand  Canal"  by  the  Vene- 
tians, as  well  as  the  great  water  street  of  the  city  ;  but  I  prefer  calling 
it  "  the  Sea,"  in  order  to  distinguish  between  that  street  and  the  broad 
water  in  front  of  the  Ducal  Palace,  which,  interrupted  only  by  the  isl- 
and of  San  Giorgio,  stretches  for  many  miles  to  the  south,  and  for  more 
than  two  to  the  boundary  of  the  Lido.  It  was  the  deeper  channel,  just 
in  front  of  the  Ducal  Palace,  continuing  the  line  of  the  great  water 
street  itself  which  the  Venetians  spoke  of  as  "  the  Grand  Canal."  The 
words  of  Sansovino  are  :  "  Fu  cominciato  dove  si  vede,  vicino  al  pontx? 
della  paglia,  et  rispondente  sul  canal  grande."  Filiasi  says  simply: 
"  The  palace  was  built  where  it  now  is."    u  II  palazio  fu  fatto  dove  ora 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE. 


281 


the  popular  report  of  his  day.  We  know,  however,  positively, 
that  it  was  somewhere  upon  the  site  of  the  existing  palace  ; 
and  that  it  had  an  important  front  towards  the  Piazzetta,  with 
which,  as  we  shall  see  hereafter,  the  present  palace  at  one 
period  was  incorporated.  We  know,  also,  that  it  was  a  pile  of 
some  magnificence,  from  the  account  given  by  Sagornino  of 
the  visit  paid  by  the  Emperor  Otho  the  Great,  to  the  Doge 
Pietro  Orseolo  II.  The  chronicler  says  that  the  Emperor 
"  beheld  carefully  all  the  beauty  of  the  palace;"*  and  the 
Venetian  historians  express  pride  in  the  building's  being 
worthy  of  an  emperor's  examination.  This  was  after  the 
palace  had  been  much  injured  by  fire  in  the  revolt  against 
Candiano  IV., f  and  just  repaired,  and  richly  adorned  by  Or- 
seolo himself,  who  is  spoken  of  by  Sagornino  as  having  also 
"  adorned  the  chapel  of  the  Ducal  Palace  "  (St.  Mark's)  with 
ornaments  of  marble  and  gold.  J  There  can  be  no  doubt 
whatever  that  the  palace  at  this  period  resembled  and  im- 
pressed the  other  Byzantine  edifices  of  the  city,  such  as  the 

pure  esiste." — Vol.  iii.  chap.  27.  The  Savina  Chronicle,  already  quoted, 
says :  "In  the  place  called  the  Bruolo  (or  Broglio),  that  is  to  say,  on  the 
Piazzetta. " 

*  "  Omni  decoritate  illius  perlustrata.'- — Sagornino,  quoted  by  Cadorin 
and  Temanza. 

f  There  is  an  interesting  account  of  this  revolt  in  Monaci,  p.  68. 
Some  historians  speak  of  the  palace  as  having  been  destroyed  entirely ; 
but,  that  it  did  not  even  need  important  restorations,  appears  from  Sag- 
ornino's  expression,  quoted  by  Cadorin  and  Temanza.  Speaking  of  the 
Doge  Participazio,  he  says  :  "  Qui  Palatii  hucusque  manentis  fuerit  fab- 
ricator." The  reparations  of  the  palace  are  usually  attributed  to  the 
successor  of  Candiano,  Pietro  Orseolo  I.  ;  but  the  legend,  under  the 
picture  of  that  Doge  in  the  Council  Chamber,  speaks  only  of  his  rebuild- 
ing St.  Mark's,  and  "performing  many  miracles."  His  whole  mind 
seems  to  have  been  occupied  with  ecclesiastical  affairs  ;  and  his  piety 
was  finally  manifested  in  a  way  somewhat  startling  to  the  state,  by  his 
absconding  with  a  French  priest  to  St.  Michael's,  in  Gascon}',  and 
there  becoming  a  monk.  What  repairs,  therefore,  were  necessary  to  the 
Ducal  Palace,  were  left  to  be  undertaken  by  his  son;  Orseolo  II.,  above 
named. 

\  "  Quam  non  modo  marmoreo,  verum  aureo  compsit  ornamenW— 
Temanza ?  p.  25. 


288 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE, 


Fondaco  de  Turchi,  &c5  whose  remains  have  been  already  de« 
scribed  ;  and  that,  like  them,  it  was  covered  with  sculpture, 
and  richly  adorned  with  gold  and  color. 

§  xi.  In  the  year  1106,  it  was  for  the  second  time  injured 
by  fire,*  but  repaired  before  1116,  when  it  received  another 
emperor,  Henry  V.  (of  Germany),  and  was  again  honored  by 
imperial  praise. f  Between  1173  and  the  close  of  the  century, 
it  seems  to  have  been  again  repaired  and  much  enlarged  by 
the  Doge  Sebastian  Ziani,  Sansovino  says  that  this  Doge 
not  only  repaired  it,  but  "  enlarged  it  in  every  direction  ;"J 
and,  after  this  enlargement,  the  palace  seems  to  have  re- 
mained untouched  for  a  hundred  years,  until,  in  the  com- 
mencement of  the  fourteenth  century,  the  works  of  the 
Gothic  Palace  were  begun.  As,  therefore,  the  old  Byzantine 
building  was,  at  the  time  when  those  works  first  interfered 
with  it,  in  the  form  given  to  it  by  Ziani,  I  shall  hereafter  al- 
ways speak  of  it  as  the  Ziani  Palace  ;  and  this  the  rather, 
because  the  only  chronicler  whose  words  are  perfectly  clear 
respecting  the  existence  of  part  of  this  palace  so  late  as  the 
year  1422,  speaks  of  it  as  built  by  Ziani.  The  old  "  palace, 
of  which  half  remains  to  this  day,  was  built,  as  we  now  see 
it,  by  Sebastian  Ziani.''  § 

So  far,  then,  of  the  Byzantine  Palace. 

§  xii.  2nd.  The  Gothic  Palace.  The  reader,  doubtless, 
recollects  that  the  important  change  in  the  Venetian  govern- 
ment which  gave  stability  to  the  aristocratic  power  took  place 

*  u  L'anno  1106,  uscito  f  uoco  d'una  casa  privata,  arse  parte  del  pa« 
lazzo." — Sansovino.  Of  the  beneficial  effect  of  these  fires,  vide  Cadorin, 
p.  121,  123. 

f  "  TJrbis  situm,  sedificiorum  decorem,  et  regiminis  sequitatem  multi^ 
pliciter  comnien davit." — Cronaca  Dandolo,  quoted  by  Cadorin. 

%  "Non  solamente  rinovo  il  palazzo,  ma  lo  aggrandi  per  ogni  verso." 
-Sansovino.    Zanotto  quotes  the  Altinat  Chronicle  for  account  of  these 
repairs. 

§  "El  palazzo  che  anco  di  mezzo  se  vede  vecchio,  per  M.  Sebastian 
Ziani  fu  fatto  compir,  come  el  se  vede."— Chronicle  of  Pietro  Dolfino, 
Cod.  Ven.  p.  47.  This  Chronicle  is  spoken  of  by  Sansovino  as  "  molt<? 
particolare  e  di3tmta. " — Sqmsomno,  Venezia  descritta,  p.  593.— It  ter- 
minates in  the  year  1422. 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE. 


2S9 


about  the  year  1297,*  under  the  Doge  Pietro  Gradenigo,  a 
man  thus  characterized  by  Sansovino  : — "  A  prompt  and  pru- 
dent man,  of  unconquerable  determination  and  great  elo- 
quence, who  laid,  so  to  speak,  the  foundations  of  the  eternity 
of  this  republic,  by  the  admirable  regulations  which  he  intro- 
duced into  the  government." 

We  may  now,  with  some  reason,  doubt  of  their  admirable- 
iiess  ;  but  their  importance,  and  the  vigorous  will  and  intel- 
lect of  the  Doge,  are  not  to  be  disputed.  Venice  wTas  in  the 
zenith  of  her  strength,  and  the  heroism  of  her  citizens  was 
displaying  itself  in  every  quarter  of  the  world,  f  The  acqui- 
escence in  the  secure  establishment  of  the  aristocratic  power 
was  an  expression,  by  the  people,  of  respect  for  the  families 
which  had  been  chiefly  instrumental  in  raising  the  common- 
wealth to  such  a  height  of  prosperity. 

The  Serrar  del  Consiglio  fixed  the  numbers  of  the  Senate 
within  certain  limits,  and  it  conferred  upon  them  a  dignity 
greater  than  they  had  ever  before  possessed.  It  was  natural 
that  the  alteration  in  the  character  of  the  assembly  should  be 
attended  by  some  change  in  the  size,  arrangement,  or  decora- 
tion of  the  chamber  in  which  they  sat. 

We  accordingly  find  it  recorded  by  Sansovino,  that  "in 
1301  another  saloon  was  begun  on  the  Kio  del  Palazzo,  under 
the  Doge  Gradenigo,  and  finished  in  1309,  in  which  year  the 
Grand  Council  first  sat  in  it"  J  In  the  first  year,  therefore, 
of  the  fourteenth  century,  the  Gothic  Ducal  Palace  of  Venice 
was  begun ;  and  as  the  Byzantine  Palace  wTas,  in  its  founda- 
tion, coeval  with  that  of  the  state,  so  the  Gothic  Palace  was, 
in  its  foundation,  coeval  with  that  of  the  aristocratic  power. 
Considered  as  the  principal  representation  of  the  Venetian 
school  of  architecture,  the  Ducal  Palace  is  the  Parthenon  of 
Venice,  and  Gradenigo  its  Pericles. 

§  xiii.  Sansovino,  with  a  caution  very  frequent  among  Ve- 
netian historians,  when  alluding  to  events  connected  with  the 
Serrar  del  Consiglio,  does  not  specially  mention  the  cause  for 

*  See  Vol.  I.  Appendix  3. 

f  Vide  Sansovino's  enumeration  of  those  who  nourished  in  the  reign 
of  Gradenigo,  p.  564.  \  Sansovino,  324,  1. 

Vol.  II.— 19 


290 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


the  requirement  of  the  new  chamber  ;  but  the  Sivos  Chronicle 
is  a  little  more  distinct  in  expression.  "In  1301,  it  was  deter- 
mined to  build  a  great  saloon  for  the  assembling  of  the  Great 
Council,  and  the  room  was  built  which  is  noio  called  the  Sala 
del  Scrutinio."  *  Now,  that  is  to  say,  at  the  time  when  the 
Sivos  Chronicle  was  written  ;  the  room  has  long  ago  been 
destroyed,  and  its  name  given  to  another  chamber  on  the  op- 
posite side  of  the  palace  :  but  I  wish  the  reader  to  remember 
the  date  1301,  as  marking  the  commencement  of  a  great  archi- 
tectural epoch,  in  which  took  place  the  first  appliance  of  the 
energy  of  the  aristocratic  power,  and  of  the  Gothic  style,  to 
the  works  of  the  Ducal  Palace.  The  operations  then  begun 
were  continued,  with  hardly  an  interruption,  during  the  whole 
period  of  the  prosperity  of  Venice.  We  shall  see  the  new 
buildings  consume,  and  take  the  place  of,  the  Ziani  Palace, 
piece  by  piece  :  and  when  the  Ziani  Palace  Avas  destroyed, 
they  fed  upon  themselves  :  being  continued  round  the  square, 
until,  in  the  sixteenth  century,  they  reached  the  point  where 
they  had  been  begun  in  the  fourteenth,  and  pursued  the  track 
they  had  then  followed  some  distance  beyond  the  junction  ; 
destroying  or  hiding  their  own  commencement,  as  the  serpent, 
which  is  the  type  of  eternity,  conceals  its  tail  in  its  jaws. 

§  xiv.  "We  cannot,  therefore,  see  the  extremity,  wherein  lay 
the  sting  and  force  of  the  whole  creature, — the  chamber,  namely, 
built  by  the  Doge  Gradenigo  ;  but  the  reader  must  keep  that 
commencement  and  the  date  of  it  carefully  in  his  mind.  The 
body  of  the  Palace  Serpent  will  soon  become  visible  to  us. 

The  Gradenigo  Chamber  was  somewhere  on  the  Rio  Facade, 

*  "  1301  fu  presa  parte  di  fare  una  sala  grande  per  la  riduzione  deV 
gran  consiglio,  e  fu  fatta  quella  die  ora  si  cliiama  deilo  Scrutinio." — 
Oronaca  Sivos,  quoted  by  Cadorin.  There  is  another  most  interesting 
entry  in  the  Chronicle  of  Magno,  relating  to  this  event ;  but  the  passage, 
is  so  ill  written,  that  I  am  not  sure  if  I  have  deciphered  it  correctly:  — 
*  -  Del  1301  fu  preso  de  fabrichar  la  sala  fo  ruina  e  fu  fata  (fatta)  quella 
se  adoperava  a  far  el  pregadi  e  f u  adopera  per  far  el  Gran  Consegio  fin 
1423,  che  fu  anni  122."  This  last  sentence,  which  is  of  great  impor- 
tance, is  luckily  unmistakable: — "  The  room  was  used  for  the  meetings 
of  the  Great  Council  until  1423,  that  is  to  say,  for  122  years."—  Cod, 
Yen.  torn.  i.  p.  126.    The  chronicle  extends  from  1253  to  1454. 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE. 


291 


behind  the  present  position  of  the  Bridge  of  Sighs;  i.e.  about 
the  point  marked  on  the  roof  by  the  dotted  lines  in  the  wood- 
cut ;  it  is  not  known  whether  low  or  high,  but  probably  on  a 
first  story.  The  great  facade  of  the  Ziani  Palace  being,  as 
above  mentioned,  on  the  Piaz^etta,  this  chamber  was  as  far 
back  and  out  of  the  way  as  possible  ;  secrecy  and  security 
being  obviously  the  points  first  considered. 

§  xv.  But  the  newly  constituted  Senate  had  need  of  other 
additions  to  the  ancient  palace  besides  the  Council  Chamber. 
A  short,  but  most  significant,  sentence  is  added  to  Sanso vino's 
account  of  the  construction  of  that  room.  "There  were,  near 
it"  he  says,  "  the  Cancellaria,  and  the  Gheba  or  Gabbia,  after- 
wards called  the  Little  Tower."  * 

Gabbia  means  a  "  cage  ; "  and  there  can  be  no  question 
that  certain  apartments  were  at  this  time  added  at  the  top  of 
the  palace  and  on  the  Rio  Facade,  which  were  to  be  used  as 
prisons.  Whether  any  portion  of  the  old  Torresella  still  re- 
mains is  a  doubtful  question  ;  but  the  apartments  at  the  top 
of  the  palace,  in  its  fourth  story,  were  still  used  for  prisons 
as  late  as  the  beginning  of  the  seventeenth  century. -j~  I  wish 
the  reader  especially  to  notice  that  a  separate  tower  or  range 
of  apartments  was  built  for  this  purpose,  in  order  to  clear 
the  government  of  the  accusations  so  constantly  made  against 
them,  by  ignorant  or  partial  historians,  of  wanton  cruelty 
to  prisoners.  The  stories  commonly  told  respecting  the 
( '  piombi"  of  the  Ducal  Palace  are  utterly  false.  Instead  of 
being,  as  usually  reported,  small  furnaces  under  the  leads  of 
the  palace,  they  were  comfortable  rooms,  with  good  flat  roofs 
of  larch,  and  carefully  ventilated.  J    The  new  chamber,  then, 

*  "  Vi  era  appresso  la  Cancellaria,  e  la  Gheba  o  Gabbia,  chiamata  poi 
Torresella." — P.  824.  A  small  square  tower  is  seen  above  the  Vine  angle 
in  the  view  of  Venice  dated  1500,  and  attributed  to  Albert  Durer.  It  ap- 
pears about  25  feet  square,  and  is  very  probably  the  Torresella  in  question. 

f  Vide  Bettio,  Lettera,  p.  23. 

\  Bettio,  Lettera,  p.  20.  -  u  Those  who  wrote  without  having  seen 
them  described  them  as  covered  with  lead  ;  and  those  who  have  seen 
them  know  that,  between  their  fiat  timber  roofs  and  the  sloping  leaden 
roof  of  the  palace,  the  interval  is  five  metres  where  it  is  least,  and  nine 
where  it  is  greatest." 


292 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


and  the  prisons,  being  built,  the  Great  Council  first  sat  in 
their  retired  chamber  on  the  Kio  in  the  year  1309. 

§  xvi.  Now,  observe  the  significant  progress  of  events. 
They  had  no  sooner  thus  established  themselves  in  power 
than  they  were  disturbed  by  the  conspiracy  of  the  Tiepolos, 
in  the  year  1310.  In  consequence  of  that  conspiracy  the 
Council  of  Ten  was  created,  still  under  the  Doge  Gradenigo  ; 
who,  having  finished  his  work  and  left  the  aristocracy  of  Ven- 
ice armed  with  this  terrible  power,  died  in  the  year  1312, 
some  say  by  poison.  He  was  succeeded  by  the  Doge  Marino 
Giorgio,  who  reigned  only  one  year  ;  and  then  followed  the 
prosperous  government  of  John  Soranzo.  There  is  no  men- 
tion of  any  additions  to  the  Ducal  Palace  during  his  reign, 
but  he  was  succeeded  by  that  Francesco  Dandolo,  the  sculpt- 
ures on  whose  tomb,  still  existing  in  the  cloisters  of  the 
Salute,  may  be  compared  by  any  traveller  with  those  of  the 
Ducal  Palace.  Of  him  it  is  recorded  in  the  Savina  Chronicle  : 
"  This  Doge  also  had  the  great  gate  built  which  is  at  the  entry 
of  the  palace,  above  which  is  his  statue  kneeling,  with  the  gon- 
falon in  hand,  before  the  feet  of  the  Lion  of  St.  Mark's."  * 

§  xvii.  It  appears,  then,  that  after  the  Senate  had  com- 
pleted their  Council  Chamber  and  the  prisons,  they  required 
a  nobler  door  than  that  of  the  old  Ziani  Palace  for  their  Mag- 
nificences to  enter  by.  This  door  is  twice  spoken  of  in  the 
government  accounts  of  expenses,  which  are  fortunately  pre- 
served,! in  the  following  terms  : — 

"  1335,  June  1.  We,  Andrew  Dandolo  and  Mark  Loredano, 
procurators  of  St.  Mark's,  have  paid  to  Martin  the  stone- 
cutter and  his  associates  J  ....  for  a  stone  of 
which  the  lion  is  made  which  is  put  over  the  gate  of  the 
palace," 

*  "  Questo  Dose  anche  fese  far  la  porta  gran  da  che  se  al  intrar  del 
Pallazzo,  in  su  la  qual  vi  e  la  sua  statua  che  sta  in  zenoccliioni  conlo 
confalon  in  man,  davanti  li  pie  de  lo  Lion  S.  Marco." — Savin  Chronicle, 
Cod.  Ven  p.  120. 

f  These  documents  I  have  not  examined  myself,  being  satisfied  of  tho 
accuracy  of  Cadorin,  from  whom  I  take  the  passages  quoted. 

i  4<  Libras  ires,  soldos  15  grossoruin." — Cadorin,  189,  1. 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE. 


293 


€s  1344,  November  4.  We  have  paid  thirty-five  golden  ducats 
for  making  gold  leaf,  to  gild  the  lion  which  is  over  the 
door  of  the  palace  stairs." 

The  position  of  this  door  is  disputed,  and  is  of  no  conse- 
quence to  the  reader,  the  door  itself  having  long  ago  disap- 
peared, and  been  replaced  by  the  Porta  della  Carta. 

§  xviii.  But  before  it  was  finished,  occasion  had  been  dis- 
covered for  farther  improvements.  The  Senate  found  their 
new  Council  Chamber  inconveniently  small,  and,  about  thirty 
years  after  its  completion,  began  to  consider  where  a  larger 
and  more  magnificent  one  might  be  built.  The  government 
was  now  thoroughly  established,  and  it  was  probably  felt  tfyat 
there  was  some  meanness  in  the  retired  position,  as  well  as 
insufficiency  in  the  size,  of  the  Council  Chamber  on  the  Eio. 
The  first  definite  account  which  I  find  of  their  proceedings, 
unda^  these  circumstances,  is  in  the  Caroldo  Chronicle  :  * 

"  1340.  On  the  28th  of  December,  in  the  preceding  year, 
Master  Marco  Erizzo,  Nicolo  Soranzo,  and  Thomas  Grade- 
nigo,  were  chosen  to  examine  where  a  new  saloon  might  be 
built  in  order  to  assemble  therein  the  Greater  Council.  .  . 
.  .  On  the  3rd  of  June,  1341,  the  Great  Council  elected 
two  procurators  of  the  work  of  this  saloon,  with  a  salary  of 
eighty  ducats  a  year." 

It  appears  from  the  entry  still  preserved  in  the  Archivio, 
and  quoted  by  Cadorin,  that  it  was  on  the  28th  of  December, 
1340,  that  the  commissioners  appointed  to  decide  on  this  im- 
portant matter  gave  in  their  report  to  the  Grand  Council,  and 
that  the  decree  passed  thereupon  for  the  commencement  of  a 
new  Council  Chamber  on  the  Grand  Canal,  f 

The  room  then  begun  is  the  one  now  in  existence,  and  its 
building  involved  the  building  of  all  that  is  best  and  most 
beautiful  in  the  present  Ducal  Palace,  the  rich  arcades  of  the 

*  Cod.  Ven.,  No.  cxLi/p.  365. 

f  Sansovino  is  more  explicit  than  usual  in  his  reference  to  this  decree  : 
"  For  it  having  appeared  that  the  place  (the  first  Council  Chamber)  was 
not  capacious  enough,  the  saloon  on  the  Grand  Canal  was  ordered.'1 
"  Per  cio  parendo  clie  il  luogo  non  fosse  capace,  fu  ordinata  la  Sala  sul 
Canal  Grande."— P.  324. 


294 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


lower  stories  being  all  prepared  for  sustaining  this  Sala  del 
Gran  Consiglio. 

§  xix.  In  saying  that  it  is  the  same  now  in  existence,  I  do 
not  mean  that  it  has  undergone  no  alterations  ;  as  we  shall 
see  hereafter,  it  has  been  refitted  again  and  again,  and  some 
portions  of  its  walls  rebuilt  ;  but  in  the  place  and  form  in 
wThich  it  first  stood,  it  still  stands  ;  and  by  a  glance  at  the 
position  which  its  windows  occupy,  as  shown  in  fig.  XXXVII. 
above,  the  reader  will  see  at  once  that  whatever  can  be  known 
respecting  the  design  of  the  Sea  Facade,  must  be  gleaned  out 
of  the  entries  which  refer  to  the  building  of  this  Great  Coun- 
cil Chamber. 

Cadorin  quotes  twro  of  great  importance,  to  which  we  shall 
return  in  due  time,  made  during  the  progress  of  the  work  in 
1342  and  1344  ;  then  one  of  1349,  resolving  that  the  works  at 
the  Ducal  Palace,  which  had  been  discontinued  during  the 
plague,  should  be  resumed  ;  and  finally  one  in  1362,  which 
npeaks  of  the  Great  Council  Chamber  as  having  been  neglected 
and  suffered  to  fall  into  "  great  desolation,"  and  resolves  that 
ifc  shall  be  forthwith  completed.* 

The  interruption  had  not  been  caused  by  the  plague  only, 
but  by  the  conspiracy  of  Faliero,  and  the  violent  death  of  the 
master  builder. f  The  work  was  resumed  in  1362,  and  com- 
pleted within  the  next  three  years,  at  least  so  far  as  that 
Guariento  was  enabled  to  paint  his  Paradise  on  the  walls  ;  | 
so  that  the  building  must,  at  any  rate,  have  been  roofed  by 
this  time.  Its  decorations  and  fittings,  however,  were  long  in 
completion  ;  the  paintings  on  the  roof  being  only  executed  in 
1400,  §    They  represented  the  heavens  covered  with  stars,  j| 

*  Cadorin,  185,  2.  The  decree  of  1342  is  falsely  given  as  of  1345  by 
the  Sivos  Chronicle,  and  by  Magno;  while  Sanuto  gives  the  decree  to  its 
right  year,  1342,  but  speaks  of  the  Council  Chamber  as  only  begrm  in 
1345. 

f  Calendario.    See  Appendix  1,  Vol.  III. 

\  '"II  prinio  che  vi  colorisse  fu  Guariento,  il  quale  l'anno  1365  vi  fece 
il  Paradiso  in  testa  della  sala.'1 — Sansoviuo. 

§  li  L'  an  poi  1400  vifece  il  cielo  compartita  a  quadretti  d'  oro,  ripieni 
di  stelle,  ch'  era  la  insegna  del  Doge  Steno. Srinsorino,  lib.  VIII. 

|  -'In  questi  tempi  si  messe  in  oro  il  cielo  della  sala  del  Gran  Consig- 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE. 


295 


this  being,  says  Sansovino,  the  bearings  of  the  Doge  Stena 
Almost  all  ceilings  and  vaults  were  at  this  time  in  Venice  cov- 
ered with  stars,  without  any  reference  to  armorial  bearings ; 
but  Steno  claims,  under  his  noble  title  of  Stellifer,  an  impor- 
tant share  in  completing  the  chamber,  in  an  inscription  upon 
two  square  tablets,  now  inlaid  in  the  walls  on  each  side  of  the 
great  window  towards  the  sea  : 

"MlLLE  QUADRINGENTI  CURKEBANT  QUATUOR  ANNI 

HOC  OPUS  ILLUSTRIS  MlCHAEL  DUX  STELLIFER  AUXIT." 

And  in  fact  it  is  to  this  Doge  that  we  owe  the  beautiful 
balcony  of  that  window,  though  the  work  above  it  is  partly 
of  more  recent  date  ;  and  I  think  the  tablets  bearing  this  im- 
portant inscription  have  been  taken  out  and  reinserted  in  the 
newer  masonry.  The  labor  of  these  final  decorations  occupied 
a  total  period  of  sixty  years.  The  Grand  Council  sat  in  the 
finished  chamber  for  the  first  time  in  1423.  In  that  year  the 
Gothic  Ducal  Palace  of  Venice  was  completed.  It  had  taken, 
to  build  it,  the  energies  of  the  entire  period  which  I  have 
above  described  as  the  central  one  of  her  life. 

§  xx.  3rd.  The  Renaissance  Palace.  I  must  go  back  a 
step  or  two,  in  order  to  be  certain  that  the  reader  understands 
clearly  the  state  of  the  palace  in  1423.  The  works  of  addition 
or  renovation  had  now  been  proceeding,  at  intervals,  during  a 
space  of  a  hundred  and  twenty-three  years.  Three  genera- 
tions at  least  had  been  accustomed  to  witness  the  gradual 
advancement  of  the  form  of  the  Ducal  Palace  into  more 
stately  symmetry,  and  to  contrast  the  works  of  sculpture  and 
painting  with  which  it  was  decorated, — full  of  the  life,  knowl- 
edge, and  hope  of  the  fourteenth  century, — with  the  rude 
Byzantine  chiselling  of  the  palace  of  the  Doge  Ziani.  The 
magnificent  fabric  just  completed,  of  which  the  new  Council 
Chamber  was  the  nucleus,  was  now  habitually  known  in 
Venice  as  the  "  Palazzo  Nuovo ; "  and  the  old  Byzantine 

lio  et  si  fece  il  pergoio  del  finestra  grande  chi  guarda  sul  canale,  adorn" 
ato  P  uno  e  V  altro  di  stelle,  ch'  erano  V  insegne  del  Doge." — Sansovino^ 
Ub.  xiii.    Compare  also  Pared,  p.  129. 


296 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


edifice,  now  ruinous,  and  more  manifest  in  its  decay  by  its 
contrast  with  the  goodly  stones  of  the  building  which  had 
been  raised  at  its  side,  was  of  course  known  as  the  "  Palazzo 
Vecchio."  *  That  fabric,  however,  still  occupied  the  principal 
position  in  Venice.  The  new  Council  Chamber  had  been 
erected  by  the  side  of  it  towards  the  Sea  ;  but  there  was  not 
then  the  wide  quay  in  front,  the  Eiva  dei  Schiavoni,  which 
now  renders  the  Sea  Facade  as  important  as  that  to  the 
Piazzetta.  There  was  only  a  narrow  walk  between  the  pillars 
and  the  water  ;  and  the  old  palace  of  Ziani  still  faced  the 
Piazzetta,  and  interrupted,  by  its  decrepitude,  the  magnifi- 
cence of  the  square  where  the  nobles  daily  met.  Every  in- 
crease of  the  beauty  of  the  new  palace  rendered  the  discrep- 
ancy between  it  and  the  companion  building  more  painful ; 
and  then  began  to  arise  in  the  minds  of  all  men  a  vague  idea 
of  the  necessity  of  destroying  the  old  palace,  and  completing 
the  front  of  the  Piazzetta  with  the  same  splendor  as  the  Sea 
Facade.  But  no  such  sweeping  measure  of  renovation  had 
been  contemplated  by  the  Senate  when  they  first  formed  the 
plan  of  their  new  Council  Chamber.  First  a  single  additional 
room,  then  a  gateway,  then  a  larger  room  ;  but  all  considered 
merely  as  necessary  additions  to  the  palace,  not  as  involving 
the  entire  reconstruction  of  the  ancient  edifice.  The  ex- 
haustion of  the  treasury,  and  the  shadows  upon  the  political 
horizon,  rendered  it  more  than  imprudent  to  incur  the  vast 
additional  expense  which  such  a  project  involved  ;  and  the 
Senate,  fearful  of  itself,  and  desirous  to  guard  against  the 
weakness  of  its  own  enthusiasm,  passed  a  decree,  like  the 
effort  of  a  man  fearful  of  some  strong  temptation  to  keep  his 
thoughts  averted  from  the  point  of  danger.  It  was  a  decree, 
not  merely  that  the  old  palace  should  not  be  rebuilt,  but  that 
no  one  should  propose  rebuilding  it.  The  feeling  of  the 
desirableness  of  doing  so  was  too  strong  to  permit  fair  discus- 
sion, and  the  Senate  knew  that  to  bring  forward  such  a  motion 
was  to  carry  it. 

§  xxi.  The  decree,  thus  passed  in  order  to  guard  against 

*  Baseggio  (Pareri,  p.  127)  is  called  the  Proto  of  the  New  Palace, 
Farther  notes  will  be  found  in  Appendix  1,  Vol  ILL 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE. 


297 


their  own  weakness,  forbade  any  one  to  speak  of  rebuilding 
the  old  palace  under  the  penalty  of  a  thousand  ducats.  But 
they  had  rated  their  own  enthusiasm  too  low  :  there  was  a 
man  among  them  whom  the  loss  of  a  thousand  ducats  could 
not  deter  from  proposing  what  he  believed  to  be  for  the  good 
of  the  state. 

Some  excuse  was  given  him  for  bringing  forward  the  mo- 
tion, by  a  fire  which  occurred  in  1419,  and  which  injured  both 
the  church  of  St.  Mark's,  and  part  of  the  old  palace  fronting 
the  Piazzetta.  What  followed,  I  shall  relate  in  the  words  of 
Sanuto.* 

§  xxii.  "Therefore  they  set  themselves  with  all  diligence 
and  care  to  repair  and  adorn  sumptuously,  first  God's  house  ; 
but  in  the  Prince's  house  things  went  on  more  slowly,  for  it 
did  not  please  the  Dogef  to  restore  it  in  the  form  in  zvhich  it 
vxis  before  ;  and  they  could  not  rebuild  it  altogether  in  a  bet- 
ter manner,  so  great  was  the  parsimony  of  these  old  fathers  ; 
because  it  was  forbidden  by  laws,  which  condemned  in  a  pen- 
alty of  a  thousand  ducats  any  one  who  should  propose  to 
throw  down  the  old  palace,  and  to  rebuild  it  more  richly  and 
with  greater  expense.  But  the  Doge,  who  was  magnanimous, 
and  who  desired  above  all  things  what  was  honorable  to  the 
city,  had  the  thousand  ducats  carried  into  the  Senate  Cham- 
ber, and  then  proposed  that  the  palace  should  be  rebuilt ; 
saying  :  that,  1  since  the  late  fire  had  ruined  in  great  part  the 
Ducal  habitation  (not  only  his  own  private  palace,  but  all  the 
places  used  for  public  business)  this  occasion  was  to  be  taken 
for  an  admonishment  sent  from  God,  that  they  ought  to  re- 
build the  palace  more  nobly,  and  in  a  wray  more  befitting  the 
greatness  to  which,  by  God's  grace,  their  dominions  had 
reached  ;  and  that  his  motive  in  proposing  this  was  neither 
ambition,  nor  selfish  interest :  that,  as  for  ambition,  they 
might  have  seen  in  the  whole  course  of  his  life,  through  so 
many  years,  that  he  had  never  done  anything  for  ambition, 
either  in  the  city,  or  in  foreign  business  ;  but  in  all  his  actions 
had  kept  justice  first  in  his  thoughts,  and  then  the  advantage 

*  Cronaca  Sanudo,  No.  cxxv.  in  the  Marcian  Library,  p.  568. 
f  Toraaso  Moceuigo. 


29S 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


of  the  state,  and  the  honor  of  the  Venetian  name  :  and  that, 
as  far  as  regarded  his  private  interest,  if  it  had  not  been  for 
this  accident  of  the  fire,  he  would  never  have  thought  of 
changing  anything  in  the  palace  into  either  a  more  sumptuous 
or  a  more  honorable  form  ;  and  that  during  the  many  years 
in  which  he  had  lived  in  it,  he  had  never  endeavored  to  make 
any  change,  but  had  always  been  content  with  it,  as  his  prede- 
cessors had  left  it ;  and  that  he  knew  well  that,  if  they  took 
in  hand  to  build  it  as  he  exhorted  and  besought  them,  being 
now  very  old,  and  broken  down  with  many  toils,  God  would 
call  him  to  another  life  before  the  walls  were  raised  a  pace 
from  the  ground.  And  that  therefore  they  might  perceive 
that  he  did  not  advise  them  to  raise  this  building  for  his  own 
convenience,  but  only  for  the  honor  of  the  city  and  its  Duke- 
dom •  and  that  the  good  of  it  would  never  be  felt  by  him,  but 
by  his  successors/  Then  he  said,  that  cin  order,  as  he  had 
always  done,  to  observe  the  laws,  ...  he  had  brought 
with  him  the  thousand  ducats  which  had  been  appointed  as 
the  penalty  for  proposing  such  a  measure,  so  that  he  might 
prove  openly  to  all  men  that  it  was  not  his  own  advantage 
that  he  sought,  but  the  dignity  of  the  state.'  "  There  was  no 
one  (Sanuto  goes  on  to  tell  us)  who  ventured,  or  desired,  to 
oppose  the  wishes  of  the  Doge  ;  and  the  thousand  ducats  were 
unanimously  devoted  to  the  expenses  of  the  work.  "And 
they  set  themselves  with  much  diligence  to  the  work  ;  and  the 
palace  was  begun  in  the  form  and  manner  in  which  it  is  at 
present  seen  ;  but,  as  Mocenigo  had  prophesied,  not  long 
after,  he  ended  his  life,  and  not  only  did  not  see  the  work 
brought  to  a  close,  but  hardly  even  begun." 

§  xxiii.  There  are  one  or  two  expressions  in  the  above  ex- 
tracts which,  if  they  stood  alone,  might  lead  the  reader  to 
suppose  that  the  whole  palace  had  been  thrown  down  and  re- 
built. We  must  however  remember,  that,  at  this  time,  the 
new  Council  Chamber,  which  had  been  one  hundred  years  in 
building,  was  actually  unfinished,  the  council  had  not  yet  sat 
in  it  ;  and  it  was  just  as  likely  that  the  Doge  should  then 
propose  to  destroy  and  rebuild  it,  as  in  this  year,  1853,  it  is 
that  any  one  should  propose  in  our  House  of  Commons  to 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE. 


299 


throw  down  the  new  Houses  of  Parliament,  under  the  title  of 
the  "old  palace,"  and  rebuild  them. 

§  xxiv.  The  manner  in  which  Sanuto  expresses  himself  will 
at  once  be  seen  to  be  perfectly  natural,  when  it  is  remembered 
that  although  we  now  speak  of  the  whole  building  as  the 
"Ducai  Palace,"  it  consisted,  in  the  minds  of  the  old  Vene- 
tians, of  four  distinct  buildings.  There  were  in  it  the  palace, 
the  state  prisons,  the  senate-house,  and  the  offices  of  public 
business  ;  in  other  words,  it  was  Buckingham  Palace,  the 
Tower  of  olden  days,  the  Houses  of  Parliament,  and  Downing 
Street,  all  in  one  ;  and  any  of  these  four  portions  might  be 
spoken  of,  without  involving  an  allusion  to  any  other.  "  II 
Palazzo  "  was  the  Ducal  residence,  which,  with  most  of  the 
public  offices,  Mocenigo  did  propose  to  pull  down  and  rebuild, 
and  which  was  actually  pulled  down  and  rebuilt.  But  the 
new  Council  Chamber,  of  which  the  whole  facade  to  the  Sea 
consisted,  never  entered  into  either  his  or  Sanuto's  mind  for 
an  instant,  as  necessarily  connected  with  the  Ducal  residence. 

I  said  that  the  new  Council  Chamber,  at  the  time  when 
Mocenigo  brought  forward  his  measure,  had  never  yet  been 
used.  It  was  in  the  year  1422  *  that  the  decree  passed  to  re- 
build the  palace  :  Mocenigo  died  in  the  following  year,f  and 
Francesco  Foscari  was  elected  in  his  room.  The  Great  Coun- 
cil Chamber  was  used  for  the  first  time  on  the  day  when 
Foscari  entered  the  Senate  as  Doge, — the  3rd  of  April,  1423, 
according  to  the  Caroldo  Chronicle  ;  J  the  23rd,  which  is  prob- 
ably correct,  by  an  anonymous  MS.,  No.  60,  in  the  Correr 
Museum  ;  § — and,  the  following  year,  on  the  27th  of  March, 

*  Vide  notes  in  Appendix. 

f  On  the  4th  of  April,  1423,  according  to  the  copy  of  the  Zancarol 
Chronicle  in  the  Marcian  Library,  but  previously,  according  to  the 
Caroldo  Chronicle,  which  makes  Foscari  enter  the  Senate  as  Doge  on 
the  3rd  of  April. 

\  "  Nella  quale  (the  Sala  del  Gran  Consiglio)  non  si  fece  Gran  Consig- 
lio  salvo  nell'  anno  1423,  alii  3  April,  et  fu  il  primo  giorno  che  il  Duee 
Foscari  venisse  in  Gran  Consiglio  tlopo  la  sua  creatione." — Copy  in 
Marcian  Library,  p.  365. 

§  44  E  a  di  23  April  (1423,  by  the  context)  sequente  to  fatto  Gran  Con- 


300  THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 

the  first  hammer  was  lifted  up  against  the  old  palace  of  Ziani* 
§  xxv.  That  hammer  stroke  was  the  first  act  of  the  period 
properly  called  the  "  Renaissance."    It  was  the  knell  of  the 
architecture  of  Venice, — and  of  Venice  herself. 

The  central  epoch  of  her  life  was  past ;  the  decay  had 
already  begun  :  I  dated  its  commencement  above  (Ch.  I.  VoL 
I.)  from  the  death  of  Mocenigo.  A  year  had  not  yet  elapsed 
since  that  great  Doge  had  been  called  to  his  account :  his 
patriotism,  always  sincere,  had  been  in  this  instance  mistaken ; 
in  his  zeal  for  the  honor  of  future  Venice,  he  had  forgotten 
what  was  due  to  the  Venice  of  long  ago.  A  thousand  palaces 
might  be  built  upon  her  burdened  islands,  but  none  of  them 
could  take  the  place,  or  recall  the  memory,  of  that  which  was 
first  built  upon  her  unfrequented  shore.  It  fell  ;  and,  as  if  it 
had  been  the  talisman  of  her  fortunes,  the  city  never  flourished 
again. 

§  xxvi.  I  have  no  intention  of  following  out,  in  their  intri* 
cate  details,  the  operations  which  were  begun  under  Foscari 
and  continued  under  succeeding  Doges  till  the  palace  assumed 
its  present  form,  for  I  am  not  in  this  work  concerned,  except 
by  occasional  reference,  with  the  architecture  of  the  fifteenth 
century :  but  the  main  facts  are  the  following.  The  palace  of 
Ziani  was  destroyed  :  the  existing  facade  to  the  Piazzetta  built, 
so  as  both  to  continue  and  to  resemble,  in  most  particulars,  the 
work  of  the  Great  Council  Chamber.  It  was  carried  back 
from  the  Sea  as  far  as  the  Judgment  angle  ;  beyond  which 
is  the  Porta  della  Carta,  begun  in  1439,  and  finished  in  two 
years,  under  the  Doge  Foscari  ;  f  the  interior  buildings  con- 
nected with  it  were  added  by  the  Doge  Christopher  Moro  (the 
Othello  of  Shakspeare)  %  in  1462. 

seio  in  la  salla  nuovo  dovi  avanti  non  esta  piu  fatto  Gran  Conseio  si  che 
el  primo  Gran  Conseio  dopo  la  sua  (Foscari's)  creation,  fo  fatto  in  la  salla 
nuova,  nel  qual  conseio  fu  el  Marchese  di  Mantoa,"  &c,  p.  426. 
*  Compare  Appendix  1,  Vol.  III. 

|  "  Tutte  queste  fatture  si  compirono  sotto  il  dogado  del  Foscari,  ne! 
lUl."—Pareri,  p.  131. 

%  This  identification  has  been  accomplished,  and  I  think  conclusively, 
by  my  friend  Mr.  Rawdon  Brown,  who  has  devoted  all  the  leisure  which, 
during  the  last  twenty  years,  his  manifold  offices  of  kindness  to  almost 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE.  301 

§  xxvii.  By  reference  to  the  figure  the  reader  will  see  that 
we  have  now  gone  the  round  of  the  palace,  and  that  the  new 
work  of  1462  was  close  upon  the  first  piece  of  the  Gothic 
palace,  the  new  Council  Chamber  of  1301.  Some  remnants  of 
the  Ziani  Palace  were  perhaps  still  left  between  the  two  ex- 
tremities of  the  Gothic  Palace  ;  or,  as  is  more  probable,  the 
last  stones  of  it  may  have  been  swept  away  after  the  fire  of 
1419,  and  replaced  by  new  apartments  for  the  Doge.  But 
whatever  buildings,  old  or  new,  stood  on  this  spot  at  the  time 
of  the  completion  of  the  Porta  della  Carta  were  destroyed  by 
another  great  fire  in  1479,  together  with  so  much  of  the  palace 
on  the  Rio  that,  though  the  saloon  of  Gradenigo,  then  known 
as  the  Sala  de'  Pregadi,  was  not  destroyed,  it  became  necessary 
to  reconstruct  the  entire  facades  of  the  portion  of  the  palace 
behind  the  Bridge  of  Sighs,  both  towards  the  court  and  canal. 
This  work  was  entrusted  to  the  best  Renaissance  architects  of 
the  close  of  the  fifteenth  and  opening  of  the  sixteenth  cen- 
turies ;  Antonio  Ricci  executing  the  Giant's  staircase,  and  on 
his  absconding  with  a  large  sum  of  the  public  money,  Pietro 
Lombardo  taking  his  place.  The  whole  work  must  have  been 
completed  towards  the  middle  of  the  sixteenth  century.  The 
architects  of  the  palace,  advancing  round  the  square  and  led 
by  fire,  had  more  than  reached  the  point  from  which  they  had 
set  out ;  and  the  work  of  1560  was  joined  to  the  work  of  1301 
— 1340,  at  the  point  marked  by  the  conspicuous  vertical  line 
in  Figure  XXXVII.  on  the  Rio  Facade. 

§  xxvui.  But  the  palace  w^as  not  long  permitted  to  remain 
in  this  finished  form.  Another  terrific  fire,  commonly  called 
the  great  fire,  burst  out  in  1574,  and  destroyed  the  inner  fit- 
tings and  all  the  precious  pictures  of  the  Great  Council  Cham- 
ber, and  of  all  the  upper  rooms  on  the  Sea  Facade,  and  most 
of  those  on  the  Rio  Facade,  leaving  the  building  a  mere  shell, 
shaken  and  blasted  by  the  flames.    It  was  debated  in  the 

every  English  visitant  of  Venice  have  left  him,  in  discovering  and  trans- 
lating the  passages  of  the  Venetian  records  which  bear  npon  English 
history  and  literature.  I  shall  have  occasion  to  take  advantage  here- 
after of  a  portion  of  his  labors,  which  I  trust  will  shortly  be  made 
public. 


302 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


Great  Council  whether  the  ruin  should  not  be  thrown  down, 
and  an  entirely  new  palace  built  in  its  stead.  The  opinions  of 
all  the  leading  architects  of  Venice  were  taken,  respecting  the 
safety  of  the  walls,  or  the  possibility  of  repairing  them  as  they 
stood.  These  opinions,  given  in  writing,  have  been  preserved, 
and  published  by  the  Abbe  Cadorin,  in  the  work  already  so 
often  referred  to  ;  and  they  form  one  of  the  most  important 
series  of  documents  connected  with  the  Ducal  Palace. 

I  cannot  help  feeling  some  childish  pleasure  in  the  acci^ 
dental  resemblance  to  my  own  name  in  that  of  the  architect 
whose  opinion  was  first  given  in  favor  of  the  ancient  fabric, 
Giovanni  Rusconi.  Others,  especially  Palladio,  wanted  to 
pull  down  the  old  palace,  and  execute  designs  of  their  own; 
but  the  best  architects  in  Venice,  and  to  his  immortal  honor, 
chiefly  Francesco  Sansovino,  energetically  pleaded  for  the 
Gothic  pile,  and  prevailed.  It  was  successfully  repaired, 
and  Tintoret  painted  his  noblest  picture  on  the  wail  from 
which  the  Paradise  of  Guariento  had  withered  before  the 
flames. 

§  xxix.  The  repairs  necessarily  undertaken  at  this  time 
were  however  extensive,  and  interfere  in  many  directions  with 
the  earlier  work  of  the  palace  :  still  the  only  serious  alteration 
in  its  form  was  the  transposition  of  the  prisons,  formerly  at 
the  top  of  the  palace,  to  the  other  side  of  the  Rio  del  Palazzo  ; 
and  the  building  of  the  Bridge  of  Sighs,  to  connect  them  with 
the  palace,  by  Antonio  da  Ponte.  The  completion  of  this 
work  brought  the  whole  edifice  into  its  present  form  ;  with 
the  exception  of  alterations  in  doors,  partitions,  and  staircases 
among  the  inner  apartments,  not  worth  noticing,  and  such 
barbarisms  and  defacements  as  have  been  suffered  within  the 
last  fifty  years,  by,  I  suppose,  nearly  every  building  of  im- 
portance in  Italy. 

§  xxx.  Now,  therefore,  we  are  at  liberty  to  examine  some  of 
the  details  of  the  Ducal  Palace,  without  any  doubt  about  their 
dates.  I  shall  not,  however,  give  any  elaborate  illustrations  of 
them  here,  because  I  could  not  do  them  justice  on  the  scale 
of  the  page  of  this  volume,  or  by  means  of  line  engraving.  1 
believe  a  new  era  is  opening  to  us  in  the  art  of  illustra* 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE.  303 

tion,*  and  that  I  shall  be  able  to  give  large  figures  of  the  details 
of  the  Ducal  Palace  at  a  price  which  will  enable  every  person 
who  is  interested  in  the-subject  to  possess  them  ;  so  that  the 
cost  and  labor  of  multiplying  illustrations  here  would  be  al- 
together wasted.  I  shall  therefore  direct  the  reader's  atten- 
tion only  to  such  points  of  interest  as  can  be  explained  hv  the 
text. 

§  xxxi.  First,  then,  looking  back  to  the  woodcut  at  the  be- 
ginning* of  this  chapter,  the  reader  will  observe  that,  as  the 
building  was  very  nearly  square  on  the  ground  plan,  a  peculiar 
prominence  and  importance  were  given  to  its  angles,  which 
rendered  it  necessary  that  they  should  be  enriched  and  soft- 
ened by  sculpture.  I  do  not  suppose  that  the  fitness  of  this 
arrangement  will  be  questioned  ;  but  if  the  reader  will  take 
the  pains  to  glance  over  any  series  of  engravings  of  church 
towers  or  other  four-square  buildings  in  which  great  refine- 
ment of  form  has  been  attained,  he  will  at  once  observe  how 
their  effect  depends  on  some  modification  of  the  sharpness  of 
the  angle,  either  by  groups  of  buttresses,  or  by  turrets  and 
niches  rich  in  sculpture.  It  is  to  be  noted  also  that  this  prin- 
ciple of  breaking  the  angle  is  peculiarly  Gothic,  arising  partly 
out  of  the  necessity  of  strengthening  the  flanks  of  enormous  « 
buildings,  where  composed  of  imperfect  materials,  by  but- 
tresses or  pinnacles  ;  partly  out  of  the  conditions  of  Gothic 
warfare,  which  generally  required  a  tower  at  the  angle  ;  partly 
out  of  the  natural  dislike  of  the  meagreness  of  effect  in  build- 
ings which  admitted  large  surfaces  of  wall,  if  the  angle  were 
entirely  unrelieved.  The  Ducal  Palace,  in  its  acknowledg- 
ment of  this  principle,  makes  a  more  definite  concession  to  the 
Gothic  spirit  than  any  of  the  previous  architecture  of  Venice. 
No  angle,  up  to  the  time  of  its  erection,  had  been  otherwise 
decorated  than  by  a  narrow  fluted  pilaster  of  red  marble,  and 
the  sculpture  was  reserved  always,  as  in  Greek  and  Koman 
work,  for  the  plane  surfaces  of  the  building,  with,  as  far  as  I 
recollect,  two  exceptions  only,  both  in  St.  Mark's  ;  namely,  the 
bold  and  grotesque  gargoyle  on  its  north-west  angle,  and  the 

*  See  tlie  last  chapter  of  the  third  volume. 

^ 


304 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


angels  which  project  from  the  four  inner  angles  under  the 
main  cupola  ;  both  of  these  arrangements  being  plainly  made 
under  Lombardic  influence.  And  if  any  other  instances  oc- 
cur, which  I  may  have  at  present  forgotten,  I  am  very  sure 
the  Northern  influence  will  always  be  distinctly  traceable  in 
them. 

§  xxxii.  The  Ducal  Palace,  however,  accepts  the  principle 
in  its  completeness,  and  throws  the  main  decoration  upon  its 
angles.  The  central  window,  which  looks  rich  and  important 
in  the  woodcut,  was  entirely  restored  in  the  Kenaissance  time, 
as  we  have  seen,  under  the  Doge  Steno  ;  so  that  we  have  no 
traces  of  its  early  treatment ;  and  the  principal  interest  of  the 
older  palace  is  concentrated  in  the  angle  sculpture,  which  is 
arranged  in  the  following  manner.  The  pillars  of  the  two 
bearing  arcades  are  much  enlarged  in  thickness  at  the  angles, 
and  their  capitals  increased  in  depth,  breadth,  and  fulness  of 
subject ;  above  each  capital,  on  the  angle  of  the  wall,  a  sculp  t- 
ural  subject  is  introduced,  consisting,  in  the  great  lowrer  ar- 
cade, of  two  or  more  figures  of  the  size  of  life  ;  in  the  upper 
arcade,  of  a  single  angel  holding  a  scroll :  above  these  angels 
rise  the  twisted  pillars  with  their  crowning  niches,  already 
noticed  in  the  account  of  parapets  in  the  seventh  chapter  ; 
thus  forming  an  unbroken  line  of  decoration  from  the  ground 
to  the  top  of  the  angle. 

§  xxxiii.  It  was  before  noticed  that  one  of  the  corners  of 
the  palace  joins  the  irregular  outer  buildings  connected  with 
St.  Mark's,  and  is  not  generally  seen.  There  remain,  there- 
fore, to  be  decorated,  only  the  three  angles,  above  distinguished 
as  the  Vine  angle,  the  Fig-tree  angle,  and  the  Judgment  angle  ; 
and  at  these  we  have,  according  to  the  arrangement  just  ex- 
Dlained, — 

First,  Three  great  bearing  capitals  (lower  arcade). 
Secondly,  Three  figure  subjects  of  sculpture  above  them 
(lower  arcade). 

Thirdly,  Three  smaller  bearing  capitals  (upper  arcade). 
Fourthly,  Three  angels  above  them  (upper  arcade). 
Fifthly,  Three  spiral  shafts  with  niches. 
§  xxxiv.  I  shall  describe  the  bearing  capitals  hereafter,  in 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE. 


305 


their  order,  with  the  others  of  the  arcade  ;  for  the  first  point 
to  which  the  reader's  attention  ought  to  be  directed  is  the 
choice  of  subject  in  the  great  figure  sculptures  above  them. 
These,  observe,  are  the  very  corner  stones  of  the  edifice,  and 
in  them  we  may  expect  to  find  the  most  important  evidences 
of  the  feeling,  as  well  as  of  the  skill,  of  the  builder.  If  he 
has  anything  to  say  to  us  of  the  purpose  with  which  he  built 
the  palace,  it  is  sure  to  be  said  here  ;  if  there  was  any  lesson 
which  he  wished  principally  to  teach  to  those  for  whom  he 
built,  here  it  is  sure  to  be  inculcated  ;  if  there  was  any  senti- 
ment which  they  themselves  desired  to  have  expressed  in  the 
principal  edifice  of  their  city,  this  is  the  place  in  which  we 
may  be  secure  of  finding  it  legibly  inscribed. 

§  xxxv.  Now  the  first  two  angles,  of  the  Vine  and  Fig-tree, 
belong  to  the  old,  or  true  Gothic,  Palace  ;  the  third  angle  be- 
longs to  the  Renaissance  imitation  of  it :  therefore,  at  the 
first  two  angles,  it  is  the  Gothic  spirit  which  is  going  to  speak 
to  us-;  and,  at  the  third,  the  Renaissance  spirit. 

The  reader  remembers,  I  trust,  that  the  most  characteristic 
sentiment  of  all  that  we  traced  in  the  working  of  the  Gothic 
heart,  was  the  frank  confession  of  its  own  weakness ;  and  I 
must  anticipate,  for  a  moment,  the  results  of  our  inquiry  in 
subsequent  chapters,  so  far  as  to  state  that  the  principal  ele- 
ment in  the  Renaissance  spirit,  is  its  firm  confidence  in  its 
own  wisdom. 

Hear,  then,  the  two  spirits  speak  for  themselves. 

The  first  main  sculpture  of  the  Gothic  Palace  is  on  what  I 
have  called  the  angle  of  the  Fig-tree  : 

Its  subject  is  the  Fall  of  Man. 

The  second  sculpture  is  on  the  angle  of  the  Vine : 

Its  subject  is  the  Drunkenness  of  Noah. 

The  Renaissance  sculpture  is  on  the  Judgment  angle : 

Its  subject  is  the  Judgment  of  Solomon. 

It  is  impossible  to  overstate,  or  to  regard  with  too  much 
admiration,  the  significance  of  this  single  fact.  It  is  as  if  the 
palace  had  been  built  at  various  epochs,  and  preserved  unin- 
jured to  this  day,  for  the  sole  purpose  of  teaching  us  the  dif- 
ference in  the  temper  of  the  two  schools. 

Vol.  11—20  ^ 


306 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE, 


§  xxxvi.  I  have  called  the  sculpture  on  the  Fig-tree  angle 
the  principal  one  ;  because  it  is  at  the  central  bend  of  the 
palace,  where  it  turns  to  the  Piazzetta  (the  facade  upon  the 
Piazzetta  being,  as  we  saw  above,  the  more  important  one  in 
ancient  times).  The  great  capital,  which  sustains  this  Fig- 
tree  angle,  is  also  by  far  more  elaborate  than  the  head  of  the 
pilaster  under  the  Vine  angle,  marking  the  preeminence  of 
the  former  in  the  architect's  mind.  It  is  impossible  to  say 
which  was  first  executed,  but  that  of  the  Fig-tree  angle  is 
somewhat  rougher  in  execution,  and  more  stiff  in  the  design 
of  the  figures,  so  that  I  rather  suppose  it  to  have  been  the 
earliest  completed. 

§  xxxvii.  In  both  the  subjects,  of  the  Fall  and  the  Drunk 
enness,  the  tree,  which  forms  the  chiefly  decorative  portion 
of  the  sculpture, — fig  in  the  one  case,  vine  in  the  other, — was 
a  necessary  adjunct.  Its  trunk,  in  both  sculptures,  forms  the 
true  outer  angle  of  the  palace ;  boldly  cut  separate  from  the 
stonework  behind,  and  branching  out  above  the  figures  so  as 
to  enwrap  each  side  of  the  angle,  for  several  feet,  with  its 
deep  foliage.  Nothing  can  be  more  masterly  or  superb  than 
the  sweep  of  this  foliage  on  the  Fig-tree  angle ;  the  broad 
leaves  lapping  round  the  budding  fruit,  and  sheltering  from 
sight,  beneath  their  shadows,  birds  of  the  most  graceful  form 
and  delicate  plumage.  The  branches  are,  however,  so  strong, 
and  the  masses  of  stone  hewn  into  leafage  so  large,  that,  not- 
withstanding the  depth  of  the  undercutting,  the  work  remains 
nearly  uninjured ;  not  so  at  the  Vine  angle,  where  the  natural 
delicacy  of  the  vine-leaf  and  tendril  having  tempted  the  sculp- 
tor to  greater  effort,  he  has  passed  the  proper  limits  of  his 
art,  and  cut  the  upper  stems  so  delicately  that  half  of  them 
have  been  broken  away  by  the  casualties  to  which  the  situ- 
ation of  the  sculpture  necessarily  exposes  it.  What  remains 
is,  however,  so  interesting  in  its  extreme  refinement,  that  I 
have  chosen  it  for  the  subject  of  the  opposite  illustration 
rather  than  the  nobler  masses  of  the  fig-tree,  which  ought  to 
be  rendered  on  a  larger  scale.  Although  half  of  the  beauty 
of  the  composition  is  destroyed  by  the  breaking  away  of  its 
central  masses,  there  is  still  enough  in  the  distribution  of  tha 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE. 


307 


variously  bending  leaves,  and  in  the  placing  of  the  birds  on 
the  lighter  branches,  to  prove  to  us  the  power  of  the  designer. 
I  have  already  referred  to  this  Plate  as  a  remarkable  instance 
of  the  Gothic  Naturalism  ;  and,  indeed,  it  is  almost  impossi- 
ble for  the  copying  of  nature  to  be  carried  farther  than  in  the 
fibres  of  the  marble  branches,  and  the  careful  finishing  of  the 
tendrils  :  note  especially  the  peculiar  expression  of  the  knotty 
joints  of  the  vine  in  the  light  branch  which  rises  highest. 
Yet  only  half  the  finish  of  the  work  can  be  seen  in  the  Plate  : 
for,  in  several  cases,  the  sculptor  has  shown  the  under  sides 
of  the  leaves  turned  boldly  to  the  light,  and  has  literally 
carved  every  rib  and  vein  upon  them,  in  relief ;  not  merely  the 
main  ribs  which  sustain  the  lobes  of  the  leaf,  and  actually 
project  in  nature,  but  the  irregular  and  sinuous  veins  which 
chequer  the  membranous  tissue  between  them,  and  which  the 
sculptor  has  represented  conventionally  as  relieved  like  the 
others,  in  order  to  give  the  vine  leaf  its  peculiar  tessellated 
effect  upon  the  eye. 

§  xxxviu.  As  must  always  be  the  case  in  early  sculpture, 
the  figures  are  much  inferior  to  the  leafage  ;  yet  so  skilful  in 
many  respects,  that  it  was  a  long  time  before  I  could  persuade 
myself  that  they  had  indeed  been  wrought  in  the  first  half  of 
the  fourteenth  century.  Fortunately,  the  date  is  inscribed 
upon  a  monument  in  the  Church  of  San  Simeon  Grande, 
bearing  a  recumbent  statue  of  the  saint,  of  far  finer  workman- 
ship, in  every  respect,  than  those  figures  of  the  Ducal  Palace, 
yet  so  like  them,  that  I  think  there  can  be  no  question  that 
the  head  of  Noah  was  wrought  by  the  sculptor  of  the  palace 
in  emulation  of  that  of  the  statue  of  St.  Simeon.  In  this 
latter  sculpture,  the  face  is  represented  in  death  ;  the  mouth 
partly  open,  the  lips  thin  and  sharp,  the  teeth  carefully  sculpt- 
ured beneath  ;  the  face  full  of  quietness  and  majesty,  though 
very  ghastly  ;  the  hair  and  beard  flowing  in  luxuriant  wreaths, 
disposed  with  the  most  masterly  freedom,  yet  severity,  of  de- 
sign, far  down  upon  the  shoulders  ;  the  hands  crossed  upon 
the  bocty,  carefully  studied,  and  the  veins  and  sinews  per- 
fectly and  easily  expressed,  yet  without  any  attempt  at  ex- 
treme finish  or  display  of  technical  skill.    This  monument 


308  THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 

bears  date  1317,  *  aud  its  sculptor  was  justly  proud  of  it ; 
thus  recording  his  name  : 

"Celavit  Marcus  opus  hoc  insigne  Romanes, 
liaudibus  non  parous  est  sua  digna  manu3." 

§  xxxix.  The  head  of  the  Noah  on  the  Ducal  Palace,  evi* 
den  try  worked  in  emulation  of  this  statue,  has  the  same  pro- 
fusion of  flowing  hair  and  beard,  but  wrought  in  smaller  and 
harder  curls  ;  and  the  veins  on  the  arms  and  breast  are  more 
sharply  drawn,  the  sculptor  being  evidently  more  practised  in 
keen  and  fine  lines  of  vegetation  than  in  those  of  the  figure  ; 
so  that,  which  is  most  remarkable  in  a  workman  of  this  early 
period,  he  has  failed  in  telling  his  story  plainly,  regret  and 
wonder  being  so  equally  marked  on  the  features  of  all  the 
three  brothers  that  it  is  impossible  to  say  which  is  intended 
for  Ham.  Two  of  the  heads  of  the  brothers  are  seen  in  the 
Plate  ;  the  third  figure  is  not  with  the  rest  of  the  group,  but 
set  at  a  distance  of  about  twelve  feet,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
arch  which  springs  from  the  angle  capital. 

§  xl.  It  may  be  observed,  as  a  farther  evidence  of  the  date 
of  the  group,  that,  in  the  figures  of  all  the  three  youths,  the 
feet  are  protected  simply  by  a  bandage  arranged  in  crossed 
folds  round  the  ankle  and  lower  part  of  the  limb  ;  a  feature 
of  dress  which  will  be  found  in  nearly  every  piece  of  figure 
sculpture  in  Venice,  from  the  year  1300  to  1380,  and  of  which 
the  traveller  may  see  an  example  within  three  hundred  yards 
of  this  very  group,  in  the  bas-reliefs  on  the  tomb  of  the  Doge 
Andrea  Dandolo  (in  St.  Mark's),  who  died  in  1354. 

§  xli.  The  figures  of  Adam  and  Eve,  sculptured  on  each 
side  of  the  Fig-tree  angle,  are  more  stiff  than  those  of  Noah 
and  his  sons,  but  are  better  fitted  for  their  architectural  ser- 
vice ;  and  the  trunk  of  the  tree,  with  the  angular  body  of  the 
serpent  writhed  around  it,  is  more  nobly  treated  as  a  terminal 
group  of  lines  than  that  of  the  vine. 

*  "  IN  XrI — NOIE  AMEN  ANNINCARNATIONIS  MCCCXVII.  INESETBR." 

<k  In  the  name  of  Christ,  Amen,  in  the  year  of  the  incarnation,  1317,  ill 
the  month  of  September,1'  &c. 


Plate  XIX.— Leafage  of  the  Vine  Angle. 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE. 


309 


The  Renaissance  sculptor  of  the  figures  of  the  Judgment 
of- Solomon  has  very  nearly  copied  the  fig-tree  from  this  angle, 
placing  its  trunk  between  the  executioner  and  the  mother, 
who  leans  forward  to  stay  his  hand.  But,  though  the  whole 
group  is  much  more  free  in  design  than  those  of  the  earlier 
palace,  and  in  many  ways  excellent  in  itself,  so  that  it  always 
strikes  the  eye  of  a  careless  observer  more  than  the  others,  it 
is  of  immeasurably  inferior  spirit  in  the  workmanship  ;  the 
leaves  of  the  tree,  though  far  more  studiously  varied  in  flow 
than  those  of  the  fig-tree  from  which  they  are  partially  copied, 
have  none  of  its  truth  to  nature  ;  they  are  ill  set  on  the  stems, 
bluntly  defined  on  the  edges,  and  their  curves  are  not  those 
of  growing  leaves,  but  of  wrinkled  drapery. 

§  xlii.  Above  these  three  sculptures  are  set,  in  the  upper 
arcade,  the  statues  of  the  archangels  Raphael,  Michael,  and 
Gabriel :  their  positions  will  be  understood  by  reference  to 
the  lowest  figure  in  Plate  XVII.,  wThere  that  of  Raphael  above 
the  Vine  angle  is  seen  on  the  right.  A  diminutive  figure  of 
Tobit  follows  at  his  feet,  and  he  bears  in  his  hand  a  scroll 
with  this  inscription  : 

EFICE  Q 
SOFRE 
TtJR  AFA 
EL  REVE 
RENDE 
QUIETU 

i.e.  Etiice  (quseso  ?)  fretum,  Raphael  reverende,  quietum.*  I 
could  not  decipher  the  inscription  on  the  scroll  borne  by  the 
angel  Michael ;  and  the  figure  of  Gabriel,  which  is  by  much 
the  most  beautiful  feature  of  the  Renaissance  portion  of  the 
palace,  has  only  in  its  hand  the  Annunciation  lily. 

*  uOh;  venerable  Raphael,  make  thou  the  gulf  calm,  we  beseech 
thee."  The  peculiar  office  of  the  angel  Raphael  is,  in  general,  accord- 
ing to  tradition,  the  restraining  the  harmful  influences  of  evil  spirits. 
Sir  Charles  Eastlake  told  me,  that  sometimes  in  this  office  he  is  repre- 
sented bearing  the  gall  of  the  fish  caught  by  Tobit ;  and  reminded  me 
of  the  peculiar  superstitions  of  the  Venetians  respecting  the  raising  of 
storms  by  fiends,  as  embodied  in  the  well-known  tale  of  the  Fisherman 
and  St.  Mark's  ring. 


310 


THE  STORES  OF  VENICE. 


§  xliii.  Such  are  the  subjects  of  the  main  sculptures  deco- 
rating the  angles  of  the  palace ;  notable,  observe,  for  their 
simple  expression  of  two  feelings,  the  consciousness  of  human 
frailty,  and  the  dependence  upon  Divine  guidance  and  pro- 
tection ;  this  being,  of  course,  the  general  purpose  of  the  in- 
troduction of  the  figures  of  the  angels  ;  and,  I  imagine,  in- 
tended to  be  more  particularly  conveyed  by  the  manner  in 
which  the  small  figure  of  Tobit  follows  the  steps  of  Raphael, 
just  touching  the  hem  of  his  garment.  We  have  next  to  ex- 
amine the  course  of  divinity  and  of  natural  history  embodied 
by  the  old  sculpture  in  the  great  series  of  capitals  which  sup- 
port the  lower  arcade  of  the  palace  ;  and  wThich,  being  at  a 
height  of  little  more  than  eight  feet  above  the  eye,  might  be 
read,  like  the  pages  of  a  book,  by  those  (the  noblest  men  in 
Venice)  wTho  habitually  walked  beneath  the  shadow  of  this 
great  arcade  at  the  time  of  their  first  meeting  each  other  for 
morning  converse. 

§  xliv.  The  principal  sculptures  of  the  capitals  consist  of 
personifications  of  the  Virtues  and  Vices,  the  favorite  subjects 
of  decorative  art,  at  this  period,  in  all  the  cities  of  Italy ;  and 
there  is  so  much  that  is  significant  in  the  various  modes  of 
their  distinction  and  general  representation,  more  especially 
with  reference  to  their  occurrence  as  expressions  of  praise  to 
the  dead  in  sepulchral  architecture,  hereafter  to  be  examined, 
that  I  believe  the  reader  may  both  happily  and  profitably  rest 
for  a  little  while  beneath  the  first  vault  of  the  arcade,  to  re- 
view the  manner  in  which  these  symbols  of  the  virtues  were 
first  invented  by  the  Christian  imagination,  and  the  evidence 
they  generally  furnish  of  the  state  of  religious  feeling  in  those 
by  whom  they  were  recognized. 

§  xlv.  In  the  early  ages  of  Christianity,  there  was  little 
care  taken  to  analyze  character.  One  momentous  question 
was  heard  over  the  whole  world, — Dost  thou  believe  in  the 
Lord  with  all  thine  heart?  There  was  but  one  division  among 
men, — the  great  unatoneable  division  between  the  disciple  and 
adversary.  The  love  of  Christ  was  all,  and  in  all ;  and  in  pro- 
portion to  the  nearness  of  their  memory  of  His  person  and 
teaching,  men  understood  the  infinity  of  the  requirements  of 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE. 


311 


the  moral  law,  and  the  manner  in  which  it  alone  could  be 
fulfilled.  The  early  Christians  felt  that  virtue,  like  sin,  was  a 
subtle  universal  thing,  entering  into  every  act  and  thought, 
appearing  outwardly  in  ten  thousand  diverse  ways,  diverse 
according  to  the  separate  framework  of  every  heart  in  which 
it  dwelt ;  but  one  and  the  same  always  in  its  proceeding  from 
the  love  of  God,  as  sin  is  one  and  the  same  in  proceeding  from 
hatred  of  God.  And  in  their  pure,  early,  and  practical  piety, 
they  saw  there  was  no  need  for  codes  of  morality,  or  systems 
of  metaphysics.  Their  virtue  comprehended  everything,  en- 
tered into  everything  ;  it  was  too  vast  and  too  spiritual  to  be 
defined  ;  but  there  was  no  need  of  its  definition.  For  through 
faith,  working  by  love,  they  knew  that  all  human  excellence 
would  be  developed  in  due  order ;  but  that,  without  faith, 
neither  reason  could  define,  nor  effort  reach,  the  lowest  phase 
of  Christian  virtue.  And  therefore,  when  any  of  the  Apostles 
have  occasion  to  describe  or  enumerate  any  forms  of  vice  or 
virtue  by  name,  there  is  no  attempt  at  system  in  their  words. 
They  use  them  hurriedly  and  energetically,  heaping  the 
thoughts  one  upon  another,  in  order  as  far  as  possible  to  fill 
the  reader's  mind  with  a  sense  of  the  infinity  both  of  crime 
and  of  righteousness.  Hear  St,  Paul  describe  sin:  " Being 
filled  with  all  unrighteousness,  fornication,  wickedness,  covet- 
ousness,  maliciousness ;  full  of  envy,  murder,  debate,  deceit, 
malignity  ;  whisperers,  backbiters,  haters  of  God,  despiteful, 
proud,  boasters,  inventors  of  evil  things,  disobedient  to  par- 
ents, without  understanding,  covenant  breakers,  without 
natural  affection,  implacable,  unmerciful."  There  is  evidently 
here  an  intense  feeeling  of  the  universality  of  sin  ;  and  in 
order  to  express  it,  the  Apostle  hurries  his  words  confusedly 
together,  little  caring  about  their  order,  as  knowing  all  the 
vices  to  be  indissolubly  connected  one  with  another.  It  would 
be  utterly  vain  to  endeavor  to  arrange  his  expressions  as  if 
they  had  been  intended  for  the  ground  of  any  system,  or  to 
give  any  philosophical  definition  of  the  vices.*    So  also  hear 

*  In  the  original,  the  succession  of  words  is  evidently  suggested  partly 
by  similarity  of  sound  ;  and  the  sentence  is  made  weighty  by  an  alliter* 

^ 


312 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


him  speaking  of  virtue :  "  Rejoice  in  the  Lord.  Let  youi 
moderation  be  known  unto  all  men.  Be  careful  for  nothing, 
but  in  everything  let  your  requests  be  made  known  unto  God ; 
and  whatsoever  things  are  honest,  whatsoever  things  are  just, 
whatsoever  things  are  pure,  whatsoever  things  are  lovely, 
whatsoever  things  are  of  good  report,  if  there  be  any  virtue, 
and  if  there  be  any  praise,  think  on  these  things."  Observe, 
he  gives  up  all  attempt  at  definition  ;  he  leaves  the  definition 
to  every  man's  heart,  though  he  writes  so  as  to  mark  the 
overflowing  fulness  of  his  own  vision  of  virtue.  And  so  it  is 
in  all  writings  of  the  Apostles  ;  their  manner  of  exhortation, 
and  the  kind  of  conduct  they  press,  vary  according  to  the 
persons  they  address,  and  the  feeling  of  the  moment  at  which 
they  write,  and  never  show  any  attempt  at  logical  precision. 
And,  although  the  words  of  their  Master  are  not  thus  irregu- 
larly uttered,  but  are  weighed  like  fine  gold,  yet,  even  in  His 
teaching,  there  is  no  detailed  or  organized  system  of  morality ; 
but  the  command  only  of  that  faith  and  love  which  were  to 
embrace  the  whole  being  of  man  :  "  On  these  two  command- 
ments hang  all  the  law  and  the  prophets."  Here  and  there 
an  incidental  warning  against  this  or  that  more  dangerous 
form  of  vice  or  error,  "  Take  heed  and  beware  of  covetous- 
ness,"  "  Beware  of  the  leaven  of  the  Pharisees ; "  here  and 
there  a  plain  example  of  the  meaning  of  Christian  love,  as  in 
the  parables  of  the  Samaritan  and  the  Prodigal,  and  His  own 
perpetual  example :  these  were  the  elements  of  Christ's  con- 
stant teaching  ;  for  the  Beatitudes,  which  are  the  only  approxi- 
mation to  anything  like  a  systematic  statement,  belong  to 
different  conditions  and  characters  of  individual  men,  not  to 
abstract  virtues.  And  all  early  Christians  taught  in  the  same 
manner.  They  never  cared  to  expound  the  nature  of  this  or 
that  virtue  ;  for  they  knew  that  the  believer  who  had  Christ, 
had  all.  Did  he  need  fortitude  ?  Christ  was  his  rock : 
Equity?  Christ  was  his  righteousness:  Holiness?  Christ 
was  his  sanctification  :  Liberty  ?    Christ  was  his  redemption  : 

ation  which  is  quite  lost  in  our  translation  ;  but  the  very  allowance  of 
influence  to  these  minor  considerations  is  a  proof  how  little  any  meta- 
physical order  or  system  was  considered  necessary  in  the  statement. 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE. 


313 


Temperance?  Christ  was  his  ruler:  Wisdom?  Christ  was 
his  light :  Truthfulness  ?  Christ  was  the  truth :  Charity  ? 
Christ  was  love. 

§  xlvl  Now,  exactly  in  proportion  as  the  Christian  religion 
became  less  vital,  and  as  the  various  corruptions  which  time 
and  Satan  brought  into  it  were  able  to  manifest  themselves, 
the  person  and  offices  of  Christ  were  less  dwelt  upon,  and 
the  virtues  of  Christians  more.  The  Life  of  the  Believer 
became  in  some  degree  separated  from  the  Life  of  Christ ;  and 
his  virtue,  instead  of  being  a  stream  flowing  forth  from  the 
throne  of  God,  and  descending  upon  the  earth,  began  to  be 
regarded  by  him  as  a  pyramid  upon  earth,  which  he  had 
to  build  up,  step  by  step,  that  from  the  top  of  it  he  might 
reach  the  Heavens.  It  was  not  possible  to  measure  the  waves 
of  the  water  of  life,  but  it  was  perfectly  possible  to  measure 
the  bricks  of  the  Tower  of  Babel  ;  and  gradually,  as  the 
thoughts  of  men  were  withdrawn  from  their  Redeemer,  and 
fixed  upon  themselves,  the  virtues  began  to  be  squared,  and 
counted,  and  classified,  and  put  into  separate  heaps  of  firsts 
and  seconds  ;  some  things  being  virtuous  cardinally,  and 
other  things  virtuous  only  north-north-west.  It  is  very 
curious  to  put  in  close  juxtaposition  the  words  of  the  Apostles 
and  of  some  of  the  writers  of  the  fifteenth  century  touching 
sanctification.  For  instance,  hear  first  St.  Paul  to  the  Thes- 
salonians  :  "  The  very  God  of  peace  sanctify  you  wholly  ;  and 
I  pray  God  your  whole  spirit  and  soul  and  body  be  preserved 
blameless  unto  the  coming  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  Faithful 
is  he  that  calleth  you,  who  also  will  do  it."  And  then  the 
following  part  of  a  prayer  which  I  translate  from  a  MS.  of  the 
fifteenth  century  :  "  May  He  (the  Holy  Spirit)  govern  the  five  • 
Senses  of  my  body ;  may  He  cause  me  to  embrace  the  Seven 
Works  of  Mercy,  and  firmly  to  believe  and  observe  the  Twelve 
Articles  of  the  Faith  and  the  Ten  Commandments  of  the  Law, 
and  defend  me  from  the  Seven  Mortal  Sins,  even  to  the  • 
end." 

§  xlvii.  I  do  not  mean  that  this  quaint  passage  is  generally 
characteristic  of  the  devotion  of  the  fifteenth  century  :  the 
very  prayer  out  of  which  it  is  taken  is  in  other  parts  exceed' 


314 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


ingly  beautiful :  *  but  the  passage  is  strikingly  illustrative  of 
the  tendency  of  the  later  Romish  Church,  more  especially 
in  its  most  corrupt  condition,  just  before  the  Reformation,  to 
throw  all  religion  into  forms  and  ciphers  ;  which  tendency,  as 
it  affected  Christian  ethics,  was  confirmed  by  the  Renaissance 
enthusiasm  for  the  works  of  Aristotle  and  Cicero,  from  whom 
the  code  of  the  fifteenth  century  virtues  was  borrowed,  and 
whose  authority  was  then  infinitely  more  revered  by  all  the 
Doctors  of  the  Church  than  that  either  of  St,  Paul  or  Si 
Peter. 

*  It  occurs  in  a  prayer  for  tlie  influence  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  u  That  He 
may  keep  my  soul,  and  direct  my  way ;  compose  my  hearing,  and  form 
my  thoughts  in  holiness  ;  may  He  govern  my  body,  and  protect  my 
mind  ;  strengthen  me  in  action,  approve  my  vows,  and  accomplish  my 
desires  ;  cause  me  to  lead  an  honest  and  honorable  life,  and  give  me 
good  hope,  charity  and  chastity,  humility  and  patience  :  may  He  govern 
the  Five  Senses  of  my  body,"  &c.  The  following  prayer  is  also  very 
characteristic  of  this  period.  It  opens  with  a  beautiful  address  to  Christ 
upon  the  cross  ;  then  proceeds  thus:  "  Grant  to  us,  O  Lord,  we  beseech 
thee,  this  day  and  ever,  the  use  of  penitence,  of  abstinence,  of  humility, 
and  chastity  ;  and  grant  to  us  light,  judgment,  understanding,  and  true 
knowledge,  even  to  the  end."  One  thing  I  note  in  comparing  old 
prayers  with  modern  ones,  that  however  quaint,  or  however  erring, 
they  are  always  tenfold  more  condensed,  comprehensive,  and  to  their 
purpose,  whatever  that  may  be.  There  is  no  dilution  in  them,  no  vain 
or  monotonous  phraseology.  They  ask  for  what  is  desired  plainly 
and  earnestly,  and  never  could  be  shortened  by  a  syllable.  The  follow- 
ing series  of  ejaculations  are  deep  in  spirituality,  and  curiously  to  our 
present  purpose  in  the  philological  quaintness  of  being  built  upon  prep- 
ositions :  — 

"  Domine  Jesu  Christe,  sancta  cruce  tua  apud  me  sis,  ut  me  defendas. 

Domine  Jesu  Christe,  pro  veneranda  cruce  tua  post  me  sis,  ut  me 
gubernes. 

Domine  Jesu  Christe,  pro  benedicta  cruce  tua  intra  me  sis,  ut  me  re- 

ficeas. 

Domine  Jesu  Christe,  pro  benedicta  cruce  tua  circa  me  sis,  ut  me  con" 
serves. 

Domine  Jesu  Christe,  pro  gloriosa  cruce  tua  ante  me  sis,  ut  me  de- 
duces. 

Domine  Jesu  Christe,  pro  laudanda  cruce  tua  super  me  sis,  ut  bene 
dicas. 

Domine  Jesu  Christe,  pro  magnifica  cruce  tua  in  me  sis,  ut  me  ad 
regnum  tuum  perducas,  per  D.  N.  J.  C.  Amen." 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE. 


315 


§  xlviii.  Although,  however,  this  change  in  the  tone  of  the 
Christian  mind  was  most  distinctly  manifested  when  the  re- 
vival of  literature  rendered  the  works  of  the  heathen  philoso- 
phers the  leading  study  of  all  the  greatest  scholars  of  the 
period,  it  had  been,  as  I  said  before,  taking  place  gradually 
from  the  earliest  ages.  It  is,  as  far  as  I  know,  that  root  of 
the  Renaissance  poison-tree,  which,  of  all  others,  is  deepest 
struck  ;  showing  itself  in  various  measures  through  the  writ- 
ings of  all  the  Fathers,  of  course  exactly  in  proportion  to  the 
respect  which  they  paid  to  classical  authors,  especially  to 
Plato,  Aristotle,  and  Cicero.  The  mode  in  which  the  pestilent 
study  of  that  literature  affected  them  may  be  well  illustrated 
by  the  examination  of  a  single  passage  from  the  works  of  one 
of  the  best  of  them,  St.  Ambrose,  and  of  the  mode  in  which  that 
passage  was  then  amplified  and  formulized  by  later  writers. 

§  xlix.  Plato,  indeed,  studied  alone,  would  have  done  no  one 
any  harm.  He  is  profoundly  spiritual  and  capacious  in  all 
Lis  views,  and  embraces  the  small  systems  of  Aristotle  and 
Cicero,  as  the  solar  system  does  the  Earth.  He  seems  to  me 
especially  remarkable  for  the  sense  of  the  great  Christian  virtue 
of  Holiness,  or  sanctification  ;  and  for  the  sense  of  the  pres- 
ence of  the  Deity  in  all  things,  great  or  small,  which  always 
runs  in  a  solemn  undercurrent  beneath  his  exquisite  playful- 
ness and  irony  ;  while  all  the  merely  moral  virtues  may  be 
found  in  his  writings  defined  in  the  most  noble  manner,  as  a 
great  painter  defines  his  figures,  without  outlines.  But  the 
imperfect  scholarship  of  later  ages  seems  to  have  gone  to 
Plato,  only  to  find  in  him  the  system  of  Cicero ;  which  indeed 
was  very  definitely  expressed  by  him.  For  it  having  been 
quickly  felt  by  all  men  who  strove,  unhelped  by  Christian 
faith,  to  enter  at  the  strait  gate  into  the  paths  of  virtue, 
that  there  were  four  characters  of  mind  which  were  protective 
or  preservative  of  all  that  was  best  in  man,  namely,  Prudence, 
Justice,  Courage,  and  Temperance,  *  these  were  afterwards, 

*  This  arrangement  of  the  cardinal  virtues  is  said  to  have  been  first 
made  by  Archytas.  See  D'Ancarville's  illustration  of  the  three  figures 
of  Prudence,  Fortitude,  and  Charity,  in  Selvatico's  ''Cappellina  degli 
Scrovegni,''  Padua,  1836. 


316 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


with  most  illogical  inaccuracy,  called  cardinal  virtues,  Pru* 
dence  being  evidently  no  virtue,  but  an  intellectual  gift :  but 
this  inaccuracy  arose  partly  from  the  ambiguous  sense  of  the 
Latin  word  "virtutes,"  which  sometimes,  in  mediaeval  lan- 
guage, signifies  virtues,  sometimes  powers  (being  occasionally 
used  in  the  Vulgate  for  the  word  "hosts," as  in  Psalm  ciii.  21, 
cxlviii.  2,  &c,  while  "  fortitudines  "  and  "  exercitus  "  are  used 
for  the  same  word  in  other  places),  so  that  Prudence  might 
properly  be  styled  a  power,  though  not  properly  a  virtue  ;  and 
partly  from  the  confusion  of  Prudence  with  Heavenly  Wisdom. 
The  real  rank  of  these  four  virtues,  if  so  they  are  to  be  called, 
is  however  properly  expressed  by  the  term  "  cardinal."  They 
are  virtues  of  the  compass,  those  by  which  all  others  are  di- 
rected and  strengthened  ;  they  are  not  the  greatest  virtues, 
but  the  restraining  or  modifying  virtues,  thus  Prudence  re- 
strains zeal,  Justice  restrains  mercy,  Fortitude  and  Temper- 
ance guide  the  entire  system  of  the  passions ;  and,  thus  un- 
derstood, these  virtues  properly  assumed  their  peculiar  leading 
or  guiding  position  in  the  system  of  Christian  ethics.  But  in 
Pagan  ethics,  they  were  not  only  guiding,  but  comprehensive. 
They  meant  a  great  deal  more  on  the  lips  of  the  ancients, 
than  they  now  express  to  the  Christian  mind.  Cicero's  J ustice 
includes  charity,  beneficence,  and  benignity,  truth,  and  faith 
in  the  sense  of  trustworthiness.  His  Fortitude  includes  cour- 
age, self-command,  the  scorn  of  fortune  and  of  all  temporary 
felicities.  His  Temperance  includes  courtesy  and  modesty. 
So  also,  in  Plato,  these  four  virtues  constitute  the  sum  of  ed- 
ucation. I  do  not  remember  any  more  simple  or  perfect  ex- 
pression of  the  idea,  than  in  the  account  given  by  Socrates, 
in  the  "  Alcibiades  I.,"  of  the  education  of  the  Persian  kings, 
for  whom,  in  their  youth,  there  are  chosen,  he  says,  four 
tutors  from  among  the  Persian  nobles ;  namely,  the  Wisest, 
the  most  Just,  the  most  Temperate,  and  the  most  Brave  of 
them.  Then  each  has  a  distinct  duty  :  "  The  Wisest  teaches 
the  young  king  the  worship  of  the  gods,  and  the  duties  of  a 
king  (something  more  here,  observe,  than  our  '  Prudence  ! ') ; 
the  most  Just  teaches  him  to  speak  all  truth,  and  to  act  out 
all  truth,  through  the  whole  course  of  his  life  ;  the  most  Tern- 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE. 


317 


perate  teaches  him  to  allow  no  pleasure  to  have  the  mastery 
of  him,  so  that  he  may  be  truly  free,  and  indeed  a  king  ;  and 
the  most  Brave  makes  him  fearless  of  all  things,  showing  him 
that  the  moment  he  fears  anything,  he  becomes  a  slave." 

§  l.  All  this  is  exceedingly  beautiful,  so  far  as  it  reaches  ; 
but  the  Christian  divines  were  grievously  led  astray  by  their 
endeavors  to  reconcile  this  system  with  the  nobler  law  of  love. 
At  first,  as  in  the  passage  I  am  just  going  to  quote  from  St. 
Ambrose,  they  tried  to  graft  the  Christian  system  on  the  four 
branches  of  the  Pagan  one  ;  but  finding  that  the  tree  would 
not  grow,  they  planted  the  Pagan  and  Christian  branches 
side  by  side  ;  adding,  to  the  four  cardinal  virtues,  the  three 
called  by  the  schoolmen  theological,  namely,  Faith,  Hope, 
and  Charity :  the  one  series  considered  as  attainable  by  the 
Heathen,  but  the  other  by  the  Christian  only.  Thus  Virgil 
to  Sordello  : 

Loco  e  laggiu,  non  tristo  da  martiri 
Ma  di  tenebre  solo,  ove  i  lamenti 
Non  suonan  come  guai,  ma  son  sospiri : 

Quivi  sto  io,  con  quei  die  le  tre  sante 
Virtu  non  si  vestiro,  e  senza  vizio 
Conobber  1'  altre,  e  seguir,  tutte  quante.'* 

There  I  with  those  abide 
Who  the  Three  Holy  Virtues  put  not  on, 
But  understood  the  rest,  and  without  blame 
Followed  them  all. ' ' 

Cary. 

§  li.  This  arrangement  of  the  virtues  was,  however,  pro- 
ductive of  infinite  confusion  and  error  :  in  the  first  place, 
because  Faith  is  classed  with  its  own  fruits, — the  gift  of  God, 
which  is  the  root  of  the  virtues,  classed  simply  as  one  of  them  ; 
in  the  second,  because  the  words  used  by  the  ancients  to 
express  the^  several  virtues  had  always  a  different  meaning 
from  the  same  expressions  in  the  Bible,  sometimes  a  more 
extended,  sometimes  a  more  limited  one.  Imagine,  for  in- 
stance, the  confusion  which  must  have  been  introduced  into 


818 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


the  ideas  of  a  student  who  read  St.  Paul  and  Aristotle  alter* 
nately  ;  considering  that  the  word  which  the  Greek  write! 
uses  for  Justice,  means,  with  St.  Paul,  .Righteousness.  And 
lastly,  it  is  impossible  to  overrate  the  mischief  produced  in 
former  days,  as  well  as  in  our  own,  by  the  mere  habit  of 
reading  Aristotle,  whose  system  is  so  false,  so  forced,  and  so 
confused,  that  the  study  of  it  at  our  universities  is  quite 
enough  to  occasion  the  utter  want  of  accurate  habits  of 
thought  which  so  often  disgraces  men  otherwise  well-edu- 
cated. In  a  word,  Aristotle  mistakes  the  Prudence  or  Tem- 
perance which  must  regulate  the  operation  of  the  virtues, 
for  the  essence  of  the  virtues  themselves  ;  and,  striving  to 
show  that  all  virtues  are  means  between  two  opposite  vices, 
torments  his  wit  to  discover  and  distinguish  as  many  pairs 
of  vices  as  are  necessary  to  the  completion  of  his  system,  not 
disdaining  to  employ  sophistry  wrhere  invention  fails  him. 

And,  indeed,  the  study  of  classical  literature,  in  general, 
not  only  fostered  in  the  Christian  writers  the  unfortunate 
love  of  systematizing,  which  gradually  degenerated  into  every 
species  of  contemptible  formulism,  but  it  accustomed  them 
to  work  out  their  systems  by  the  help  of  any  logical  quibble, 
or  verbal  subtlety,  which  could  be  made  available  for  their 
purpose,  and  this  not  with  any  dishonest  intention,  but  in  a 
sincere  desire  to  arrange  their  ideas  in  systematical  groups, 
while  yet  their  powers  of  thought  were  not  accurate  enough, 
nor  their  common  sense  stern  enough,  to  detect  the  fallacy, 
or  disdain  the  finesse,  by  wdiich  these  arrangements  were  fre- 
quently accomplished. 

§  lii.  Thus  St.  Ambrose,  in  his  commentary  on  Luke  vi. 
20,  is  resolved  to  transform  the  four  Beatitudes  there  de- 
scribed into  rewards  of  the  four  cardinal  Virtues,  and  sets 
himself  thus  ingeniously  to  the  task  : 

" ■  Blessed  be  ye  poor.'  Here  you  have  Temperance. 
'  Blessed  are  ye  that  hunger  now.'  He  who  hungers,  pities 
those  who  are  an-hungered  ;  in  pitying,  he  gives  to  them, 
and  in  giving  he  becomes  just  (largienclo  tit  justus).  'Blessed 
are  ye  that  weep  now,  for  ye  shall  laugh/  Here  you  have 
Prudence,  whose  part  it  is  to  weep,  so  far  as  present  thing? 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE. 


319 


are  concerned,  and  to  seek  things  which  are  eternal.  e Bless- 
ed are  ye  when  men  shall  hate  you.'  Here  you  have  Forti- 
tude." 

§  liii.  As  a  preparation  for  this  profitable  exercise  of  wit,  we 
have  also  a  reconciliation  of  the  Beatitudes  as  stated  by  St. 
Matthew,  with  those  of  St.  Luke,  on  the  ground  that  "in 
those  eight  are  these  four,  and  in  these  four  are  those  eight ;  * 
with  sundry  remarks  on  the  mystical  value  of  the  number 
eight,  with  which  I  need  not  trouble  the  reader.  With  St. 
Ambrose,  however,  this  puerile  systematization  is  quite  sub- 
ordinate to  a  very  forcible  and  truthful  exposition  of  the  real 
nature  of  the  Christian  life.  But  the  classification  he  em- 
ploys furnishes  ground  for  farther  subtleties  to  future  divines  ; 
and  in  a  MS.  of  the  thirteenth  century  I  find  some  expres- 
sions in  this  commentary  on  St.  Luke,  and  in  the  treatise  on 
the  duties  of  bishops,  amplified  into  a  treatise  on  the  6 4  Steps 
of  the  Virtues  :  by  which  every  one  who  perseveres  may,  by 
a  straight  path,  attain  to  the  heavenly  country  of  the  Angels." 
("Liber  de  Gradibus  Yirtutum  :  quibus  ad  patriam  ange- 
lorum  supernarn  itinere  recto  ascenditur  ab  omni  perseve- 
rante.")  These  Steps  are  thirty  in  number  (one  expressly  for 
each  day  of  the  month),  and  the  curious  mode  of  their  asso- 
ciation renders  the  list  well  worth  quoting  : 


§  Liv.  Primus  gradus 
Secundus  " 
Tertius  " 

4. 

5. 

6. 

7. 

8. 

9. 

10.  " 

11. 

12. 

13.  " 
14. 


est  Fides  Recta. 
Spes  firma. 
Caritas  perfecta. 
Patientia  vera. 
Humilitas  sancta. 
Mansuetudo. 
Intelligentia. 
Compimctio  cordis. 
Oratio. 

Confessio  pura. 
Penitentia  digna. 
Abstinentia. 
Timor  Dei. 
Virginitas, 


Unerring  faith. 
Firm  hope. 
Perfect  charity. 
True  patience. 
Holy  humility. 
Meekness. 
Understanding. 
Contrition  of  heart. 
Prayer. 

Pure  confession. 
Fitting  penance.* 
Abstinence  (fasting). 
Fear  of  God. 
Virginity. 


*  Or  Penitence  :  but  I  rather  think  this  is  understood  only  in  Ccia< 
punctio  cordis. 


320 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


15.  gradus 

est  Justicia. 

Justice. 

-IP  a 
10. 

Misericordia. 

Mercy. 

17. 

Elemosina. 

Almsgiving. 

lo. 

Hospitalitas. 

Hospitality. 

iy. 

Honor  parentum. 

Honoring  of  parents. 

OA                     <  < 

Silencium. 

feilence. 

91  M 

V^UIlMllUIIl  UUIIUIII. 

UTUULl  LOuUbcl. 

Judicium  rectum. 

Right  judgment. 

iiixempium  bonum. 

Good  example. 

O/i  K 

Visitatio  infirmorum. 

Visitation  ox  the  sick. 

Frequentatio  sancto- 

Companying with 

rum. 

saints. 

26.  44 

Oblatio  justa. 

Just  oblations. 

27. 

Decimas  Deo  solvere. 

Paying  tithes  to  God. 

28. 

Sapientia. 

Wisdom. 

29. 

Voluntas  bona. 

Goodwill. 

30.  « 

Perseverantia. 

Perseverance. 

§  lv.  The  reader  will  note  that  the  general  idea  of  Christian 
virtue  embodied  in  this  list  is  true,  exalted,  and  beautiful ;  the 
points  of  weakness  being  the  confusion  of  duties  with  virtues, 
and  the  vain  endeavor  to  enumerate  the  various  offices  of 
charity  as  so  many  separate  virtues  ;  more  frequently  arranged 
as  seven  distinct  works  of  mercy.  This  general  tendency  to  a 
morbid  accuracy  of  classification  was  associated,  in  later  times, 
with  another  very  important  element  of  the  Kenaissance  mind, 
the  love  of  personification  ;  which  appears  to  have  reached  its 
greatest  vigor  in  the  course  of  the  sixteenth  century,  and  is 
expressed  to  all  future  ages,  in  a  consummate  manner,  in  the 
poem  of  Spenser.  It  is  to  be  noted  that  personification  is,  in 
some  sort,  the  reverse  of  symbolism,  and  is  far  less  noble. 
Symbolism  is  the  setting  forth  of  a  great  truth  by  an  imperfect 
and  inferior  sign  (as,  for  instance,  of  the  hope  of  the  resurrec- 
tion by  the  form  of  the  phoenix)  ;  and  it  is  almost  always 
employed  by  men  in  their  most  serious  moods  of  faith,  rarely 
in  recreation.  Men  who  use  symbolism  forcibly  are  almost 
always  true  believers  in  what  they  symbolize.  But  Personifi- 
cation is  the  bestowing  of  a  human  or  living  form  upon  an  ab« 
stract  idea  :  it  is,  in  most  cases,  a  mere  recreation  of  the  fancy, 
and  is  apt  to  disturb  the  belief  in  the  reality  of  the  thing  per* 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE. 


321 


sonified.  Thus  symbolism  constituted  the  entire  system  of  the 
Mosaic  dispensation  :  it  occurs  in  every  word  of  Christ's 
teaching  ;  it  attaches  perpetual  mystery  to  the  last  and  most 
solemn  act  of  His  life.  But  I  do  not  recollect  a  single  instance 
of  personification  in  any  of  His  words.  And  as  we  watch, 
thenceforward,  the  history  of  the  Church,  we  shall  find  the 
declension  of  its  faith  exactly  marked  by  the  abandonment  of 
symbolism,*  and  the  profuse  employment  of  personification, — 
even  to  such  an  extent  that  the  virtues  came,  at  last,  to  be 
confused  with  the  saints  ;  and  we  find  in  the  later  Litanies, 
St.  Faith,  St.  Hope,  St.  Charity,  and  St.  Chastity,  invoked  im-, 
mediately*  after  St.  Clara  and  St.  Bridget. 

§  lvi.  Nevertheless,  in  the  hands  of  its  early  and  earnest 
masters,  in  whom  fancy  could  not  overthrow  the  foundations 
of  faith,  personification  is  often  thoroughly  noble  and  lovely  ; 
the  earlier  conditions  of  it  being  just  as  much  more  spiritual 
and  vital  than  the  later  ones,  as  the  still  earlier  symbolism  was 
more  spiritual  than  they.  Compare,  for  instance,  Dante's 
burning  Charity,  running  and  returning  at  the  wheels  of  the 
chariot  of  God, — 

l<  So  ruddy,  that  her  form  had  scarce 
Been  known  within  a  furnace  of  clear  flame," 

with  Keynolds's  Charity,  a  nurse  in  a  white  dress,  climbed 
upon  by  three  children. f  And  not  only  so,  but  the  number 
and  nature  of  the  virtues  differ  considerably  in  the  statements 
of  different  poets  and  painters,  acccording  to  their  own  views 
of  religion,  or  to  the  manner  of  life  they  had  it  in  mind  to 
illustrate.  Giotto,  for  instance,  arranges  his  system  altogether 
differently  at  Assisi,  where  he  is  setting  forth  the  monkish 
life,  and  in  the  Arena  Chapel,  where  he  treats  of  that  of 
mankind  in  general,  and  where,  therefore,  he  gives  only  the 
so-called  theological  and  cardinal  virtues  ;  while,  at  Assisi, 

*  The  transformation  of  a  symbol  into  reality,  observe,  as  in  transub- 
stantiation,  is  as  much  an  abandonment  of  symbolism  as  the  forgetful* 
ness  of  symbolic  meaning  altogether. 

f  On  the  window  of  New  College,  Oxford. 
Vol.  11-21 


322 


THE  STONES    OF  VENICE. 


the  three  principal  virtues  are  those  which  are  reported  ta 
have  appeared  in  vision  to  St.  Francis,  Chastity,  Obedience, 
and  Poverty  :  Chastity  being  attended  by  Fortitude,  Purity, 
and  Penance  ;  Obedience  by  Prudence  and  Humility  ;  Poverty 
by  Hope  and  Charity.  The  systems  vary  with  almost  every 
writer,  and  in  almost  every  important  work  of  art  which 
embodies  them,  being  more  or  less  spiritual  according  to  the 
power  of  intellect  by  which  they  were  conceived.  The  most 
noble  in  literature  are,  I  suppose,  those  of  Dante  and  Spenser  : 
and  with  these  we  may  compare  five  of  the  most  interesting 
series  in  the  early  art  of  Italy  ;  namely,  those  of  Orcagna, 
Giotto,  and  Simon  Memmi,  at  Florence  and  Padua,  *and  those 
of  St.  Mark's  and  the  Ducal  Palace  at  Venice.  Of  course, 
in  the  richest  of  these  series,  the  vices  are  personified  together 
with  the  virtues,  as  in  the  Ducal  Palace  ;  and  by  the  form  or 
name  of  opposed  vice,  we  may  often  ascertain,  wdth  much 
greater  accuracy  than  would  otherwise  be  possible,  the  par- 
ticular idea  of  the  contrary  virtue  in  the  mind  of  the  writer 
or  painter.  Thus,  when  opposed  to  Prudence,  or  Prudentia, 
on  the  one  side,  we  find  Folly,  or  Stultitia,  on  the  other,  it 
shows  that  the  virtue  understood  by  Prudence,  is  not  the 
mere  guiding  or  cardinal  virtue,  but  the  Heavenly  Wisdom,* 
opposed  to  that  folly  which  "  hath  said  in  its  heart,  there  is 
no  God  ; "  and  of  which  it  is  said,  "  the  thought  of  foolishness 
is  sin  ; "  and  again,  "  Such  as  be  foolish  shall  not  stand  in  thy 
sight."  This  folly  is  personified,  in  early  painting  and  illumi- 
nation, by  a  half-naked  man,  greedily  eating  an  apple  or  other 
fruit,  and  brandishing  a  club  ;  showing  that  sensuality  and 
violence  are  the  two  principal  characteristics  of  Foolishness, 
and  lead  into  atheism.  The  figure,  in  early  Psalters,  always 
forms  the  letter  D,  which  commences  the  fifty-third  Psalm, 
"  Dixit  insipiens" 

§  lvii.  In  reading  Dante,  this  mode  of  reasoning  from 
contraries  is  a  great  help,  for  his  philosophy  of  the  vices  \% 
the  only  one  wdiich  admits  of  classification  ;  his  description? 
of  virtue,  while  they  include  the  ordinary  formal  division? 

*  Uniting  the  three  ideas  expressed  by  the  Greek  philosophers  undc 
the  terms  <pp6vy)€i,  voty'ia,  and  iTncn^^T] ;  and  part  of  the  idea  of  aw^^offopi 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE. 


323 


are  far  too  profound  and  extended  to  be  brought  under  defi- 
nition. Every  line  of  the  "  Paradise "  is  full  of  the  most 
exquisite  and  spiritual  expressions  of  Christian  truth  ;  and 
that  poem  is  only  less  read  than  the  "  Inferno  "  because  it 
requires  far  greater  attention,  and,  perhaps,  for  its  full  enjoy- 
ment, a  holier  heart. 

§  lviii.  His  system  in  the  "  Inferno  "  is  briefly  this.  The 
whole  nether  world  is  divided  into  seven  circles,  deep  within 
deep,  in  each  of  which,  according  to  its  depth,  severer  punish- 
ment is  inflicted.  These  seven  circles,  reckoning  them  down- 
wards, are  thus  allotted  : 

1.  To  those  who  have  lived  virtuously,  but  knew  not  Christ. 

2.  To  Lust. 

3.  To  Gluttony. 

4.  To  Avarice  and  Extravagance. 

5.  To  Anger  and  Sorrow. 

6.  To  Heresy. 

7.  To  Violence  and  Fraud. 

This  seventh  circle  is  divided  into  two  parts  ;  of  which  the 
first,  reserved  for  those  who  have  been  guilty  of  Violence,  is 
again  divided  into  three,  apportioned  severally  to  those  who 
have  committed,  or  desired  to  commit,  violence  against  their 
neighbors,  against  themselves,  or  against  God. 

The  lowest  hell,  reserved  for  the  punishment  of  Fraud,  is 
itself  divided  into  ten  circles,  wherein  are  severally  punished 
the  sins  of, — 

1.  Betraying  women. 

2.  Flattery. 

3.  Simony. 

4.  False  prophecy. 

5.  Peculation. 

6.  Hypocrisy. 

7.  Theft, 

8.  False  counsel. 

9.  Schism  and  Imposture. 

10.  Treachery  to  those  who  repose  entire  trust  in  the  traitoi*. 

^ 


324 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE, 


§  lix.  There  is,  perhaps,  nothing  more  notable  in  this  most 
interesting  system  than  the  profound  truth  couched  under  the 
attachment  of  so  terrible  a  penalty  to  sadness  or  sorrow.  It 
is  true  that  Idleness  does  not  elsewhere  appear  in  the  scheme, 
and  is  evidently  intended  to  be  included  in  the  guilt  of  sadness 
by  the  word  "  accidioso  ; 99  but  the  main  meaning  of  the  poet 
is  to  mark  the  duty  of  rejoicing  in  God,  according  both  to  St. 
Paul's  command,  and  Isaiah's  promise,  "Thou  meetest  him 
that  rejoiceth  and  worketh  righteousness."  *  I  do  not  know 
words  that  might  with  more  benefit  be  borne  with  us.  and  set 
in  our  hearts  momentarily  against  the  minor  regrets  and  re- 
belliousnesses of  life,  than  these  simple  ones  : 

'  *  Tristi  f ummo 
Nel  aer  dolce,  che  del  sol  s'  allegra, 
Or  ci  attristiam;  nella  belletta  negra." 

"  We  once  were  sad, 
In  the  sweet  air,  made  gladsome  by  the  sun, 
Now  in  these  murky  settlings  are  we  sad."  f  Gary. 

The  virtue  usually  opposed  to  this  vice  of  sullenness  is 
Alacritas,  uniting  the  sense  of  activity  and  cheerfulness. 
Spenser  has  cheerfulness  simply,  in  his  description,  never 
enough  to  be  loved  or  praised,  of  the  virtues  of  "Womanhood ; 
first  feminineness  or  womanhood  in  specialty  ;  then, — 

"  Next  to  her  sate  goodly  Shamefastnesse, 
Ne  ever  durst  her  eyes  from  ground  upreare, 
Ne  ever  once  did  looke  up  from  her  desse,  J 
As  if  some  blame  of  evill  she  did  feare 
That  in  her  cheekes  made  roses  oft  appeare  : 
And  her  against  sweet  Cherefulnesse  was  placed, 
Whose  eyes,  like  twinkling  stars  in  evening  cleare, 
Were  deckt  with  smyles  that  all  sad  humours  chaced. 

*  Isa  lxiv.  5. 

f  I  can  hardly  think  it  neccessary  to  point  out  to  the  reader  the  asso< 
ciation  between  sacred  cheerfulness  and  solemn  thought,  or  to  explain 
any  appearance  of  contradiction  between  passages  in  which  (as  above  in 
Chap.  V.)  I  have  had  to  oppose  sacred  pensiveness  to  unholy  mirth,  ant? 
those  iu  which  I  have  to  oppose  sacred  cheerfulness  to  unholy  sorrow. 

$  aDesse,"  seat. 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE. 


325 


44  And  next  to  her  sate  sober  Modestie, 
Holding  her  hand  upon  her  gentle  hart ; 
And  her  against,  sate  comely  Curtesie, 
That  unto  er.ery  person  knew  Iter  part ; 
And  her  before  was  seated  overthwart 
Soft  Silence,  and  submisse  Obedience, 
Both  linckt  together  never  to  dispart." 

§  lx.  Another  notable  point  in  Dante's  system  is  the  inten- 
sity of  uttermost  punishment  given  to  treason,  the  peculiar 
sin  of  Italy,  and  that  to  which,  at  this  day,  she  attributes  her 
own  misery  with  her  own  lips.  An  Italian,  questioned  as  to 
the  causes  of  the  failure  of  the  campaign  of  1848,  always 
makes  one  answer,  "  We  were  betrayed  ; "  and  the  most  mel- 
ancholy feature  of  the  present  state  of  Italy  is  principally  this, 
that  she  does  not  see  that,  of  all  causes  to  which  failure  might 
be  attributed,  this  is  at  once  the  most  disgraceful,  and  the 
most  hopeless.  In  fact,  Dante  seems  to  me  to  have  written 
almost  prophetically,  for  the  instruction  of  modern  Italy,  and 
chiefly  so  in  the  sixth  canto  of  the  "Purgatorio." 

§  lxi.  Hitherto  we  have  been  considering  the  system  of  the 
"  Inferno  "  only.  That  of  the  "  Purgatorio  "  is  much  simpler, 
it  being  divided  into  seven  districts,  in  which  the  souls  are 
severally  purified  from  the  sins  of  Pride,  Envy,  Wrath,  Indif- 
ference, Avarice,  Gluttony*  and  Lust  ;  the  poet  thus  implying 
in  opposition,  and  describing  in  various  instances,  the  seven 
virtues  of  Humility,  Kindness,*  Patience,  Zeal,  Poverty,  Ab- 
stinence, and  Chastity,  as  adjuncts  of  the  Christian  character, 
in  which  it  may  occasionally  fail,  while  the  essential  group  of 
the  three  theological  and  four  cardinal  virtues  are  represented 
as  in  direct  attendance  on  the  chariot  of  the  Deity  ;  and  all 
the  sins  of  Christians  are  in  the  seventeenth  canto  traced  to 
the  deficiency  or  aberration  of  Affection. 

*  Usually  called  Charity  :  but  this  virtue  in  its  full  sense  is  one  of  the 
attendant  spirits  by  the  Throne  ;  the  Kindness  here  meant  is  Charity 
with  a  special  object ;  or  Friendship  and  Kindness,  as  opposed  to  Envy, 
which  has  always,  in  like  manner,  a  special  object.  Hence  the  love  of 
Orestes  and  Pylades  is  given  as  an  instance  of  the  virtue  of  Friendship  ; 
and  the  Virgin's,  ''They  have  no  wine,"  at  Cana,  of  general  kindness 
and  sympathy  with  others'  pleasure. 


328 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE, 


§  lxil  The  system  of  Spenser  is  unfinished,  and  exceedingly 
complicated,  the  same  vices  and  virtues  occurring  under  differ- 
ent forms  in  different  places,  in  order  to  show  their  different 
relations  to  each  other.  I  shall  not  therefore  give  any  gen- 
eral sketch  of  it,  but  only  refer  to  the  particular  personifica- 
tion of  each  virtue  in  order  to  compare  it  with  that  of  the 
Ducal  Palace.*  The  peculiar  superiority  of  his  system  is  in 
its  exquisite  setting  forth  of  Chastity  under  the  figure  of 
Britomart ;  not  monkish  chastity,  but  that  of  the  purest  Love. 
In  completeness  of  personification  no  one  can  approach  him ; 
not  even  in  Dante  do  I  remember  anything  quite  so  great  as 
the  description  of  the  Captain  of  the  Lusts  of  the  Flesh : 

44  As  pale  and  wan  as  ashes  was  his.  looke  ; 
His  body  lean  and  meagre  as  a  rake  ; 
And  skin  all  withered  like  a  dryed  rooke ; 
Thereto  as  cold  and  drery  as  a  snake ; 
That  seemed  to  tremble  evermore,  and  quake  : 
All  in  a  canvas  thin  he  was  bedight, 
And  girded  with  a,  belt  of  twisted  brake  : 
Upon  Ills  head  he  wore  an  helmet  light, 
Made  of  a  dead  man's  skull." 

He  rides  upon  a  tiger,  and  in  his  hand  is  a  bow,  bent ; 

4f  And  many  arrows  under  his  right  side, 
Headed  with  flint,  and  f ethers  bloody  dide." 

The  horror  and  the  truth  of  this  are  beyond  everything  that 
1  know,  out  of  the  pages  of  Inspiration.  Note  the  heading  of 
the  arrows  with  flint,  because  sharper  and  more  subtle  in  the 
edge  than  steel,  and  because  steel  might  consume  away  with 
rust,  but  flint  not ;  and  consider  in  the  whole  description  how 
the  wasting  away  of  body  and  soul  together,  and  the  coldness 

-The  "Faerie  Queen,"  like  Dante's  "  Paradise,''  is  only  half  esti- 
mated, because  few  persons  take  the  pains  to  think  out  its  meaning.  I 
have  put  a  brief  analysis  of  the  tat  book  in  Appendix  2,  Vol.  III.  ; 
vrhich  may  perhaps  induce  the  reader  to  follow  out  the  subject  for  him* 
self  No  time  devoted  to  profane  literature  will  b*>  Detter  rewarded 
than  that  spent  earnestly  on  Spenser. 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE, 


327 


of  the  heart,  which  unholy  fire  has  consumed  into  ashes,  and 
the  loss  of  all  power,  and  the  kindling  of  all  terrible  impa- 
tience, and  the  implanting  of  thorny  and  inextricable  griefs, 
are  set  forth  by  the  various  images,  the  belt  of  brake,  the 
tiger  steed,  and  the  light  helmet,  girding  the  head  with  death. 

§  lxiii.  Perhaps  the  most  interesting  series  of  the  Virtues 
expressed  in  Italian  art  are  those  above  mentioned  of  Simon 
Memmi  in  the  Spanish  chapel  at  Florence,  of  Ambrogio  di 
Lorenzo  in  the  Palazzo  Publico  of  Pisa,  of  Orcagna  in  Or  San 
Michele  at  Florence,  of  Giotto  at  Padua  and  Assisi,  in  mosaic 
on  the  central  cupo]a  of  St.  Mark's,  and  in  sculpture  on  the 
pillars  of  the  Ducal  Palace.  The  first  two  series  are  carefully 
described  by  Lord  Lindsay  ;  both  are  too  complicated  for 
comparison  with  the  more  simple  series  of  the  Ducal  Palace  ; 
the  other  four  of  course  agree  in  giving  first  the  cardinal  and 
evangelical  virtues ;  their  variations  in  the  statement  of  the 
rest  will  be  best  understood  by  putting  them  in  a  parallel  ar- 


rangement. 

St.  Mark's. 

Orcagna. 

Giotto. 

Ducal  Palace. 

Constancy. 

Perseverance. 

Constancy. 

Modesty. 

Modesty. 

Chastity. 

Virginity. 

Chastity. 

Chastity. 

Patience. 

Patience. 

Patience. 

Mercy. 

Abstinence. 

Abstinence  ? 

Piety* 

Devotion. 

Benignity. 

Humility. 

Humility, 

Humility. 

Humility. 

Obedienca 

Obedience. 

Obedience. 

Docility. 

Caution. 

Poverty. 

Honesty. 

Liberality 

Alacrity. 

*  Inscribed,  1  believe,  Pieias,  meaning  general  reverence  and  godij 
fear. 


328 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


§  lxiv.  It  is  curious,  that  in  none  of  these  lists  do  we  find 
either  Honesty  or  Industry  ranked  as  a  virtue,  except  in  the 
Venetian  one,  where  the  latter  is  implied  in  Alacritas,  and 
opposed  not  only  by  "  Accidia  "  or  sloth,  but  by  a  whole  series 
of  eight  sculptures  on  another  capital,  illustrative,  as  I  believe, 
of  the  temptations  to  idleness  ;  while  various  other  capitals, 
as  we  shall  see  presently,  are  devoted  to  the  representation  of 
the  active  trades.  Industry,  in  Northern  art  and  Northern 
morality,  assumes  a  very  principal  place.  I  have  seen  in 
French  manuscripts  the  virtues  reduced  to  these  seven,  Char- 
ity, Chastity,  Patience,  Abstinence,  Humility,  Liberality, 
and  Industry  :  and  I  doubt  whether,  if  we  were  but  to  add 
Honesty  (or  Truth),  a  wiser  or  shorter  list  could  be  made 
out. 

§  lxv.  We  will  now  take  the  pillars  of  the  Ducal  Palace 
in  their  order.  It  has  already  been  mentioned  (Vol.  I.  Chap. 
I.  §  xlvi.)  that  there  are,  in  all,  thirty-six  great  pillars  sup- 
porting the  lower  story  ;  and  that  these  are  to  be  counted  from 
right  to  left,  because  then  the  more  ancient  of  them  come  first : 
and  that,  thus  arranged,  the  first,  which  is  not  a  shaft,  but  a 
pilaster,  will  be  the  support  of  the  Vine  angle  ;  the  eighteenth 
will  be  the  great  shaft  of  the  Fig-tree  angle  ;  and  the  thirty- 
sixth,  that  of  the  Judgment  angle, 

§  lxvi.  All  their  capitals,  except  that  of  the  first,  are  octag- 
onal, and  are  decorated  by  sixteen  leaves,  differently  enriched 
in  every  capital,  but  arranged  in  the  same  way  ;  eight  of  them 
rising  to  the  angles,  and  there  forming  volutes  ;  the  eight 
others  set  between  them,  on  the  sides,  rising  half-way  up  the 
bell  of  the  capital ;  there  nodding  forward,  and  showing- 
above  them,  rising  out  of  their  luxuriance,  the  groups  or 
single  figures  which  we  have  to  examine.*  In  some  instances, 
the  intermediate  or  lower  leaves  are  reduced  to  eight  sprays 
of  foliage  ;  and  the  capital  is  left  dependent  for  its  effect  on 
the  bold  position  of  the  figures.    In  referring  to  the  figures 

*  I  have  given  one  of  these  capitals  carefully  already  in  my  folio 
work,  and  hope  to  give  most  of  the  others  in  due  time.  It  was  of  no  use 
to  draw  them  here,  as  the  scale  would  have  "been  too  small  to  allow  me 
to  show  the  expression  of  the  figures. 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE. 


329 


on  the  octagonal  capitals,  I  shall  call  the  outer  side,  fronting 
either  the  Sea  or  the  Piazzetta,  the  first  side  ;  and  so  count 
round  from  left  to  right ;  the  fourth  side  being  thus,  of  course, 
the  innermost.  As,  however,  the  first  five  arches  were  walled 
up  after  the  great  fire,  only  three  sides  of  their  capitals  are  left 
visible,  which  we  may  describe  as  the  front  and  the  eastern 
and  western  sides  of  each. 

§  lxvii.  First  Capital:  i.e.  of  the  pilaster  at  the  Vine 
angle. 

In  front,  towards  the  Sea.  A  child  holding  a  bird  before 
him,  with  its  wings  expanded,  covering  his  breast. 

On  its  eastern  side.    Children's  heads  among  leaves. 

On  its  western  side.  A  child  carrying  in  one  hand  a  comb  ; 
in  the  other,  a  pair  of  scissors. 

It  appears  curious,  that  this,  the  principal  pilaster  of  the 
facade,  should  have  been  decorated  only  by  these  graceful 
grotesques,  for  I  can  hardly  suppose  them  anything  more. 
There  may  be  meaning  in  them,  but  I  will  not  venture  to  con- 
jecture any,  except  the  very  plain  and  practical  meaning  con- 
veyed by  the  last  figure  to  all  Venetian  children,  which  it 
would  be  well  if  they  would  act  upon.  For  the  rest,  I  have 
seen  the  comb  introduced  in  grotesque  work  as  early  as  the 
thirteenth  century,  but  generally  for  the  purpose  of  ridiculing 
too  great  care  in  dressing  the  hair,  which  assuredly  is  not  its 
purpose  here.  Tbe  children's  heads  are  very  sweet  and  full 
of  life,  but  the  eyes  sharp  and  small. 

§  lxviii.  Second  Capital.  Only  three  sides  of  the  origina 
work  are  left  unburied  by  the  mass  of  added  wall.  Each  side 
has  a  bird,  one  web-footed,  with  a  fish,  one  clawed,  with  a  ser- 
pent, which  opens  its  jaws,  and  darts  its  tongue  at  the  bird's 
breast ;  the  third  pluming  itself,  with  a  feather  between  the 
mandibles  of  its  bill.  It  is  by  far  the  most  beautiful  of  the 
three  capitals  decorated  with  birds. 

Third  Capital.  Also  has  three  sides  only  left.  They  have 
three  heads,  large,  and  very  ill  cut  ;  one  female,  and  crowned. 

Fourth  Capital.  Has  three  .children.  The  eastern  one  is 
defaced  :  the  one  in  front  holds  a  small  bird,  whose  plumage 
is  beautifully  indicated,  in  its  right  hand  ;  and  with  its  left 


330 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


holds  up  half  a  walnut,  showing  the  nut  inside  :  the  third 
holds  a  fresh  fig,  cut  through,  showing  the  seeds. 

The  hair  of  all  the  three  children  is  differently  worked  :  the 
first  has  luxuriant  flowing  hair,  and  a  double  chin  ;  the 
second,  light  flowing  hair  falling  in  pointed  locks  on  the 
forehead  ;  the  third,  crisp  curling  hair,  deep  cut  with  drill 
holes. 

This  capital  has  been  copied  on  the  Eenaissance  side  of  the 
palace,  only  with  such  changes  in  the  ideal  of  the  children  as 
the  workman  thought  expedient  and  natural.  It  is  highly 
interesting  to  compare  the  child  of  the  fourteenth  with  the 
child  of  the  fifteenth  century.  The  early  heads  are  full  of 
youthful  life,  playful,  humane,  affectionate,  beaming  with  sbn- 
sation  and  vivacity,  but  with  much  manliness  and  firmness, 
also,  not  a  little  cunning,  and  some  cruelty  perhaps,  beneath 
all ;  the  features  small  and  hard,  and  the  eyes  keen.  There  is 
the  making  of  rough  and  great  men  in  them.  But  the  chil- 
dren of  the  fifteenth  century  are  dull  smooth-faced  dunces, 
without  a  single  meaning  line  in  the  fatness  of  their  stolid 
cheeks  ;  and,  although,  in  the  vulgar  sense,  as  handsome  as 
the  other  children  are  ugly,  capable  of  becoming  nothing  but 
perfumed  coxcombs. 

Fifth  Capital.  Still  three  sides  only  left,  bearing  three 
half-length  statues  of  kings  ;  this  is  the  first  capital  which 
bears  any  inscription.  In  front,  a  king  with  a  sword  in  his 
right  hand  points  to  a  handkerchief  embroidered  and  fringed, 
with  a  head  on  it,  carved  on  the  cavetto  of  the  abacus.  His 
name  is  written  above,  "titus  vespasian  imperator"  (contracted 

W0i 

On  the  eastern  side,  "  trajanus  imperator."  Crowned,  a 
sword  in  right  hand,  and  sceptre  in  left. 

On  western,  "  (oct)aviamjs  Augustus  imperator."  The 
ci  oct  "  is  broken  away.  He  bears  a  globe  in  his  right  hand, 
with  "  mundus  pacis  "  upon  it ;  a  sceptre  in  his  left,  which  I 
think  has  terminated  in  a  human  figure.  He  has  a  flowing 
beard,  and  a  singularly  high  crown  ;  the  face  is  much  injured, 
but  has  once  been  very  noble  in  expression. 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE. 


331 


Sixth  Capital.  Has  large  male  and  female  heads,  very 
coarsely  cut,  hard,  and  bad. 

§  lxix.  Seventh  Capital.  This  is  the  first  of  the  series 
which  is  complete  ;  the  first  open  arch  of  the  lower  arcade 
being  between  it  and  the  sixth.  It  begins  the  representation 
of  the  Virtues. 

First  side,  Largitas,  or  Liberality:  always  distinguished 
from  the  higher  Charity.  A  male  figure,  with  his  lap  full  of 
money,  which  he  pours  out  of  his  hand.  The  coins  are  plain, 
circular,  and  smooth  ;  there  is  no  attempt  to  mark  device 
upon  them.    The  inscription  above  is,  "  largitas  me  onorat." 

In  the  copy  of  this  design  on  the  twenty-fifth  capital,  in- 
stead of  showering  out  the  gold  from  his  open  hand,  the  fig- 
ure holds  it  in  a  plate  or  salver,  introduced  for  the  sake  of 
disguising  the  direct  imitation.  The  changes  thus  made  in 
the  Renaissance  pillars  are  always  injuries. 

This  virtue  is  the  proper  opponent  of  Avarice  ;  though  it 
does  not  occur  in  the  systems  of  Orcagna  or  Giotto,  being  in- 
cluded in  Charity.  It  was  a  leading  virtue  with  Aristotle  and 
the  other  ancients. 

§  lxx.  Second  side.  Constancy  ;  not  very  characteristic. 
An  armed  man  with  a  sword  in  his  hand,  inscribed,  "con- 
stantly SUM,  NIL  TIMENS." 

This  virtue  is  one  of  the  forms  of  fortitude,  and  Giotto 
therefore  sets  as  the  vice  opponent  to  Fortitude,  "  Inconstan- 
tia,"  represented  as  a  woman  in  loose  drapery,  falling  from  a 
rolling  globe.  The  vision  seen  in  the  interpreter's  house  in 
the  Pilgrim's  Progress,  of  the  man  with  a  very  bold  counte* 
nance,  who  says  to  him  who  has  the  writer's  ink-horn  by  his 
side,  "Set  down  my  name,"  is  the  best  personification  of  the 
Venetian  "  Constantia  "  of  which  lam  aware  in  literature.  It 
would  be  well  for  us  all  to  consider  whether  we  have  yet 
given  the  order  to  the  man  with  the  ink-horn,  "  Set  down  my 
name." 

§  Lxxi.  Third-  side.  Discord  ;  holding  up  her  finger,  but 
needing  the  inscription  above  to  assure  us  of  her  meaning? 
"discoedia  sum,  discordans."  In  the  Eenaissance  copy  she  is 
a  meek  and  nun-like  person  with  a  veil. 


332 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


She  is  the  Ate  of  Spenser  ;  "  mother  of  debate, "  thus  de 
scribed  in  the  fourth  book  : 

il  Her  face  most  fowle  and  filthy  was  to  see, 
With  squinted  eyes  oontrarie  wayes  intended  ; 
And  loathly  mouth,  unmeete  a  mouth  to  bee, 
That  nought  but  gall  and  venim  comprehended, 
And  wicked  wordes  that  God  and  man  offended : 
Her  lying  tongue  was  in  two  parts  divided, 
And  both  the  parts  did  speake,  and  both  contended  ; 
And  as  her  tongue,  so  was  her  hart  discided, 
That  never  thoght  one  thing,  but  doubly  stil  was  guided." 

Note  the  fine  old  meaning  of  "  discided,"  cut  in  two  ;  it  is 
a  great  pity  we  have  lost  this  powerful  expression.  We 
might  keep  "  determined  "  for  the  other  sense  of  the  word. 

§  lxxii.  Fourth  side.  Patience.  A  female  figure,  very  ex- 
pressive and  lovely,  in  a  hood,  with  her  right  hand  on  her 
breast,  the  left  extended,  inscribed  "patientia  manet  mecum." 

She  is  one  of  the  principal  virtues  in  all  the  Christian  sys- 
tems :  a  masculine  virtue  in  Spenser,  and  beautifully  placed 
as  the  Physician  in  the  House  of  Holinesse.  The  opponent 
vice,  Impatience,  is  one  of  the  hags  who  attend  the  Captain 
of  the  Lusts  of  the  Flesh  ;  the  other  being  Impotence.  In 
like  manner,  in  the  "Pilgrim's  Progress,"  the  opposite  of 
Patience  is  Passion ;  but  Spenser's  thought  is  farther  carried. 
His  two  hags,  Impatience  and  Impotence,  as  attendant  upon 
the  evil  spirit  of  Passion,  embrace  all  the  phenomena  of  hu- 
man conduct,  down  even  to  the  smallest  matters,  according 
to  the  adage,  "  More  haste,  worse  speed." 

§  lxxiii.  Fifth  side.  Despair.  A  female  figure  thrusting  a 
dagger  into  her  throat,  and  tearing  her  long  hair,  which  flows 
down  among  the  leaves  of  the  capital  below  her  knees.  One 
of  the  finest  figures  of  the  series  ;  inscribed  "desperacio  mos 
(mortis?)  crtjdelis."  In  the  Renaissance  copy  she  is  totally 
devoid  of  expression,  and  appears,  instead  of  tearing  her 
hair,  to  be  dividing  it  into  long  curls  on  each  side. 

This  vice  is  the  proper  opposite  of  Hope.  By  Giotto  she 
is  represented  as  a  woman  hanging  herself,  a  fiend  coming  for 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE. 


333 


her  soul.  Spenser's  vision  of  Despair  is  well  known,  it  being 
indeed  currently  reported  that  this  part  of  the  Faerie  Queen 
was  the  first  which  drew  to  it  the  attention  of  Sir  Philip  Sid- 
ney. 

§  lxxiv.  Sixth  side.    Obedience :  with  her  arms  folded 
meek,  but  rude  and  commonplace,  looking  at  a  little  dog 
standing  on  its  hind  legs  and  begging,  with  a  collar  round  its 
neck.    Inscribed  "  obedienti  *    *  ;  "  the  rest  of  the  sentence 

is  much  defaced,  but  looks  like  ^OBO^jiiP^O  -  1  sup- 
pose the  note  of  contraction  above  the  final  A  has  disappeared 
and  that  the  inscription  was  "  Obedientiam  domino  exhibeo." 

This  virtue  is,  of  course,  a  principal  one  in  the  monkish 
systems  ;  represented  by  Giotto  at  Assisi  as  "  an  angel  robed 
in  black,  placing  the  finger  of  his  left  hand  on  his  mouth,  and 
passing  the  yoke  over  the  head  of  a  Franciscan  monk  kneeling 
at  his  feet."* 

Obedience  holds  a  less  principal  place  in  Spenser.  We 
have  seen  her  above  associated  with  the  other  peculiar  virtues 
of  womanhood. 

§  lxxv.  Seventh  side.  Infidelity.  A  man  in  a  turban,  with 
a  small  image  in  his  hand,  or  the  image  of  a  child.  Of  the 
inscription  nothing  but  "  infidelitate  *  *  *  "  and  some  frag- 
mentary letters,  "ili,  cero,"  remain. 

By  Giotto  Infidelity  is  most  nobly  symbolized  as  a  woman 
helmeted,  the  helmet  having  a  broad  rim  which  keeps  the 
light  from  her  eyes.  She  is  covered  with  heavy  drapery, 
stands  infirmly  as  if  about  to  fall,  is  bound  by  a  cord  round 
her  neck  to  an  image  which  she  carries  in  her  hand,  and  has 
:3ames  bursting  forth  at  her  feet. 

In  Spenser,  Infidelity  is  the  Saracen  knight  Sans  Fey, — * 

"Full  large  of  limbe  and  every  joint 
He  was,  and  cared  not  for  God  or  man  a  point." 

For  the  part  which  he  sustains  in  the  contest  with  Godly  Feart 
or  the  Red-cross  knight,  see  Appendix  2,  Vol.  ILL 

*  Lord  Lindsay,  vol.  ii.  p.  226. 


334 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


§  lxxvi.  Eighth  side.  Modesty  ;  bearing  a  pitcher.  (In  the 
Renaissance  copy,  a  vase  like  a  coffee-pot. )  Inscribed  "  modestia 


I  do  not  find  this  virtue  in  any  of  the  Italian  series,  except 
that  of  Venice.  In  Spenser  she  is  of  course  one  of  those 
attendant  on  Womanhood,  but  occurs  as  one  of  tho  tenants 
of  the  Heart  of  Man,  thus  portrayed  in  the  second  book  : 

"  Straunge  was  her  tyre,  and  all  her  garment  blew, 
Close  rownd  about  her  tuckt  with  many  a  plight : 
Upon  her  fist  the  bird  which  shoimeth  vew. 


And  ever  and  anone  with  rosy  red 

The  bashfull  blood  her  snowy  cheekes  did  dye, 

That  her  became,  as  polisht  yvory 

Which  cunning  craftesman  hand  hath  overlayd 

With  fay  re  vermilion  or  pure  castory." 


§  lxxvii.  Eighth  Capital.  It  has  no  inscriptions,  and  its 
subjects  are  not,  by  themselves,  intelligible  ;  but  they  appear 
to  be  typical  of  the  degradation  of  human  instincts. 

First  side.  A  caricature  of  Arion  on  his  dolphin  ;  he  wears 
a  cap  ending  in  a  long  proboscis-like  horn,  and  plays  a  violin 
with  a  curious  twitch  of  the  bow  and  wag  of  the  head,  very 
graphically  expressed,  but  still  without  anything  approaching 
to  the  power  of  Northern  grotesque.  His  dolphin  has  a  goodly 
row  of  teeth,  and  the  waves  beat  over  his  back. 

Second  side.  A  human  figure,  with  curly  hair  and  the  legs 
of  a  bear ;  the  paws  laid,  with  great  sculptural  skill,  upon  the 
foliage.  It  plays  a  violin,  shaped  like  a  guitar,  with  a  bent- 
double -stringed  bow. 

Third  side.  A  figure  with  a  serpent's  tail  and  a  monstrous 
head,  founded  on  a  Negro  type,  hollow-cheeked,  large-lipped, 
and  wearing  a  cap  made  of  a  serpent's  skin,  holding  a  fir-cone 
in  its  hand. 

Fourth  side.  A  monstrous  figure,  terminating  below  in  a 
tortoise.  It  is  devouring  a  gourd,  which  it  grasps  greedily 
with  both  hands  ;  it  wears  a  cap  ending  in  a  hoofed  leg. 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE. 


Fifth  side.  A  centaur  wearing  a  crested  helmet,  and  hold* 
ing  a  curved  sword. 

Sixth  side.  A  knight,  riding  a  headless  horse,  and  wearing 
chain  armor,  with  a  triangular  shield  flung  behind  his  back, 
and  a  two-edged  sword. 

Seventh  side.  A  figure  like  that  on  the  fifth,  wearing  a 
round  helmet,  and  with  the  legs  and  tail  of  a  horse.  He  bears 
a  long  mace  with  a  top  like  a  fir-cone. 

Eighth  side.  A  figure  with  curly  hair,  and  an  acorn  in  its 
hand,  ending  below  in  a  fish. 

§  lxxviii.  Ninth  Capital.  First  side.  Faith.  She  has  her 
left  hand  on  her  breast,  and  the  cross  on  her  right.  Inscribed 
"  fides  optima  in  deo."  The  Faith  of  Giotto  holds  the  cross 
in  her'  right  hand  ;  in  her  left,  a  scroll  with  the  Apostles' 
Creed.  She  treads  upon  cabalistic  books,  and  has  a  key  sus- 
pended to  her  waist.  Spenser's  Faith  (Fidelia)  is  still  more 
spiritual  and  noble  : 

"  She  was  araied  all  in  lilly  white, 
And  in  her  right  hand  bore  a  cup  of  gold, 
With  wine  and  water  fild  up  to  the  hight, 
In  which  a  serpent  did  himselfe  enfold, 
That  horrour  made  to  all  that  did  behold  ; 
But  she  no  whitt  did  chaunge  her  constant  mood  \ 
And  in  her  other  hand  she  fast  did  hold 
A  booke,  that  was  both  signd  and  seald  with  blood  ; 
Wherein  darke  things  were  writt,  hard  to  be  understood." 

§  lxxix.  Second  side.  Fortitude.  A  long-bearded  man 
[Samson  ?]  tearing  open  a  lion's  jaw.  The  inscription  is  il- 
legible, and  the  somewhat  vulgar  personification  appears  to 
belong  rather  to  Courage  than  Fortitude.  On  the  Benais- 
sance  copy  it  is  inscribed  "eortitudo  sum  vipjlis."  The 
Latin  word  has,  perhaps,  been  received  by  the  sculptor  as 
merely  signifying  "  Strength,"  the  rest  of  the  perfect  idea  of 
this  virtue  having  been  given  in  "  Constantia "  previously. 
But  both  these  Venetian  symbols  together  do  not  at  all  ap- 
proach the  idea  of  Fortitude  as  given  generally  by  Giotto  and 
the  Pisan  sculptors  ;  clothed  with  a  lion's  skin,  knotted  about 
her  neck,  and  falling  to  her  feet  in  deep  folds  ;  drawing  back 


336 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


her  right  hand,  with  the  sword  pointed  towards  her  enemy , 
and  slightly  retired  behind  her  immovable  shield,  which,  with 
Giotto,  is  square,  and  rested  on  the  ground  like  a  tower,  cov- 
ering her  up  to  above  her  shoulders  ;  bearing  on  it  a  lion,  and 
with  broken  heads  of  javelins  deeply  infixed. 

Among  the  Greeks,  this  is,  of  course,  one  of  the  principal 
virtues ;  apt,  however,  in  their  ordinary  conception  of  it  to 
degenerate  into  mere  manliness  or  courage. 

§  lxxx.  Third  side.  Temperance  ;  bearing  a  pitcher  of 
water  and  a  cup.  Inscription,  illegible  here,  and  on  the 
Renaissance  copy  nearly  so,  "  temperantia  sum  "  (inom'  ls)  ? 
only  left.  In  this  somewhat  vulgar  and  most  frequent  con- 
ception of  this  virtue  (afterwards  continually  repeated,  as  by 
Sir  Joshua  in  his  window  at  New  College)  temperance  is 
confused  with  mere  abstinence,  the  opposite  of  Gula,  or  glut- 
tony ;  whereas  the  Greek  Temperance,  a  truly  cardinal  virtue, 
is  the  moderator  of  all  the  passions,  and  so  represented  by 
Giotto,  who  has  placed  a  bridle  upon  her  lips,  and  a  sword 
in  her  hand,  the  hilt  of  which  she  is  binding  to  the  scabbard. 
In  his  system,  she  is  opposed  among  the  vices,  not  by  Gula 
or  Gluttony,  but  by  Ira,  Anger.  So  also  the  Temperance  of 
Spenser,  or  Sir  Guy  on,  but  with  mingling  of  much  sternness : 

(i  A.  goodly  kniglit,  all  armed  in  harnesse  meete, 
That  from  his  head  no  place  appeared  to  his  feete, 
His  carriage  was  full  comely  and  upright ; 
His  countenance  demure  and  temperate  ; 
But  yett  so  sterne  and  terrible  in  sight, 
That  cheard  his  friendes,  and  did  his  foes  amate." 

The  Temperance  of  the  Greeks,  crwcfrpoo-vvr},  involves  the 
idea  of  Prudence,  and  is  a  most  noble  virtue,  yet  properly 
marked  by  Plato  as  inferior  to  sacred  enthusiasm,  though  nec- 
essary for  its  government.  He  opposes  it,  under  the  name 
u  Mortal  Temperance  "  or  "  the  Temperance  which  is  of  men," 
to  divine  madness,  pavta,  or  inspiration  ;  but  he  most  justly 
and  nobly  expresses  the  general  idea  of  it  under  the  term 
vfipts,  which,  in  the  "Phaedrus,"  is  divided  into  various  intem- 
perances with  respect  to  various  objects,  and  set  forth  under 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE. 


337 


the  image  of  a  black,  vicious,  diseased  and  furious  horse,  yoked 
by  the  side  of  Prudence  or  Wisdom  (set  forth  under  the 
figure  of  a  white  horse  with  a  crested  and  noble  head,  like 
that  which  we  have  among  the  Elgin  Marbles)  to  the  chariot 
of  the  Soul.  The  system  of  Aristotle,  as  above  stated,  is 
throughout  a  mere  complicated  blunder,  sivpported  by  so- 
phistry, the  laboriously  developed  mistake  of  Temperance  for 
the  essence  of  the  virtues  which  it  guides.  Temperance  in  the 
mediaeval  systems  is  generally  opposed  by  Anger,  or  by  Folly, 
or  Gluttony  :  but  her  proper  opposite  is  Spenser's  Acrasia,  the 
principal  enemy  of  Sir  Guyon,  at  whose  gates  we  find  the  sub- 
ordinate vice  '*  Excesse,"  as  the  introduction  to  Intemperance  ; 
a  graceful  and  feminine  image,  necessary  to  illustrate  the  more 
dangerous  forms  of  subtle  intemperance,  as  opposed  to  the 
brutal  "  Gluttony  "  in  the  first  book.  She  presses  grapes  into 
a  cup,  because  of  the  words  of  St.  Paul,  "  Be  not  drunk  with 
wine,  wherein  is  excess ; "  but  always  delicately, 

"  Into  her  cup  she  scruzd  with  daintie  breach 
Of  her  fine  fingers,  without  fowle  empeach, 
That  so  faire  winepresse  made  the  wine  more  sweet." 

The  reader  will,  I  trust,  pardon  these  frequent  extracts 
from  Spenser,  for  it  is  nearly  as  necessary  to  point  out  the 
profound  divinity  and  philosophy  of  our  great  English  poet, 
as  the  beauty  of  the  Ducal  Palace. 

§  lxxxi.  Fourth  side.  Humility  ;  with  a  veil  upon  her  head, 
carrying  a  lamp  in  her  lap.    Inscribed  in  the  copy,  "  humili- 

TAS  HABITAT  IN  ME." 

This  virtue  is  of  course  a  peculiarly  Christian  one,  hardly 
recognized  in  the  Pagan  systems,  though  carefully  impressed 
upon  the  Greeks  in  early  life  in  a  manner  which  at  this  day 
it  would  be  w^ell  if  we  were  to  imitate,  and,  together  with  an 
almost  feminine  modesty,  giving  an  exquisite  grace  to  the 
conduct  and  bearing  of  the  well-educated  Greek  youth.  It  is, 
of  course,  one  of  the  leading  virtues  in  all  the  monkish  sys- 
tems, but  I  have  not  any  notes  of  the  manner  of  its  represen- 
tation. 

§  lxxxil  Fifth  side.  Charity.  A  woman  with  her  lap  full  of 

Vol.  II.-23  ^ 


33S 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


loaves  (?),  giving  one  to  a  child,  who  stretches  his  arm  out 
for  it  across  a  broad  gap  in  the  leafage  of  the  capital. 

Again  very  far  inferior  to  the  Giottesque  rendering  of  this 
virtue.  In  the  Arena  Chapel  she  is  distinguished  from  all  the 
other  virtues  by  having  a  circular  glory  round  her  head,  and 
a  cross  of  fire  ;  she  is  crowned  with  flowers,  presents  with  her 
right  hand  a  vase  of  corn  and  fruit,  and  with  her  left  receives 
treasure  from  Christ,  who  appears  above  ner,  to  provide  her 
with  the  means  of  continual  offices  of  beneficence,  while  she 
tramples  under  foot  the  treasures  of  the  earth. 

The  peculiar  beauty  of  most  of  the  Italian  conceptions  of 
Charity,  is  in  the  subjection  of  mere  munificence  to  the  glow- 
ing of  her  love,  always  represented  by  flames  ;  here  in  the 
form  of  a  cross  round  her  head  ;  in  Orcagna's  shrine  at  Flor- 
ence, issuing  from  a  censer  in  her  hand  ;  and,  with  Dante,  in- 
flaming her  whole  form,  so  that,  in  a  furnace  of  clear  fire,  she 
could  not  have  been  discerned. 

Spenser  represents  her  as  a  mother  surrounded  by  happy 
children,  an  idea  afterwards  grievously  hackneyed  and  vulgar- 
ized by  English  painters  and  sculptors. 

§  lxxxiii.  Sixth  dde.  Justice.  Crowned,  and  with  sword. 
Inscribed  in  the  copy,  "rex  sum  justicie." 

This  idea  was  afterwards  much  amplified  and  adorned  in 
the  only  good  capital  of  the  Eenaissance  series,  under  the 
Judgment  angle.  Giotto  has  also  given  his  whole  strength  to 
the  painting  of  this  virtue,  representing  her  as  enthroned 
under  a  noble  Gothic  canopy,  holding  scales,  not  by  the  beam, 
but  one  in  each  hand  ;  a  beautiful  idea,  showing  that  the 
equality  of  the  scales  of  Justice  is  not  owing  to  natural  laws, 
but  to  her  own  immediate  weighing  the  opposed  causes  in 
her  own  hands.  In  one  scale  is  an  executioner  beheading  a 
criminal ;  in  the  other  an  angel  crowning  a  man  who  seems 
(in  Selvatico's  plate)  to  have  been  working  at  a  desk  or  table. 

Beneath  her  feet  is  a  small  predella,  representing  various 
persons  riding  securely  in  the  woods,  and  others  dancing  to 
the  sound  of  music. 

Spenser's  Justice,  Sir  Artegall,  is  the  hero  of  an  entire 
book,  and  the  betrothed  knight  of  Britomart,  or  chastity, 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE. 


339 


§  lxxxiv.  Seventh  side.  Prudence.  A  man  with  a  book  and 
a  pair  of  compasses,  wearing  the  noble  cap,  hanging  down 
towards  the  shoulder,  and  bound  in  a  fillet  round  the  brow, 
which  occurs  so  frequently  during  the  fourteenth  century  in 
Italy  in  the  portraits  of  men  occupied  in  any  civil  capacity. 

This  virtue  is,  as  we  have  seen,  conceived  under  very  differ- 
ent degrees  of  dignity,  from  mere  worldly  prudence  up  to 
heavenly  wisdom,  being  opposed  sometimes  by  Stultitia,  some- 
times by  Ignorantia.  I  do  not  find,  in  any  of  the  representa- 
tions of  her,  that  her  truly  distinctive  character,  namely, 
forethought,  is  enough  insisted  upon  :  Giotto  expresses  her  vigi- 
lance and  just  measurement  or  estimate  of  all  things  by  paint- 
ing her  as  Janus-headed,  and  gazing  into  a  convex  mirror, 
with  compasses  in  her  right  hand ;  the  convex  mirror  showing 
her  power  of  looking  at  many  things  in  small  compass.  But 
forethought  or  anticipation,  by  which,  independently  of  greater 
or  less  natural  capacities,  one  man  becomes  more  prudent  than 
another,  is  never  enough  considered  or  symbolized. 

The  idea  of  this  virtue  oscillates,  in  the  Greek  systems, 
between  Temperance  and  Heavenly  Wisdom. 

§  lxxxv.  Eighth  side.  Hope.  A  figure  full  of  devotional 
expression,  holding  up  its  hands  as  in  prayer,  and  looking  to 
a  hand  which  is  extended  towards  it  out  of  sunbeams.  In  the 
Renaissance  copy  this  hand  does  not  appear. 

Of  all  the  virtues,  this  is  the  most  distinctively  Christian  (it 
could  not,  of  course,  enter  definitely  into  any  Pagan  scheme) ; 
and  above  all  others,  it  seems  to  me  the  testing  virtue, — that 
by  the  possession  of  which  we  may  most  certainly  determine 
whether  we  are  Christians  or  not ;  for  many  men  have  charity, 
that  is  to  say,  general  kindness  of  heart,  or  even  a  kind  of 
faith,  who  have  not  any  habitual  hope  of,  or  longing  for, 
heaven.  The  Hope  of  Giotto  is  represented  as  winged,  rising 
in  the  air,  while  an  angel  holds  a  crown  before  her.  I  do  not 
know  if  Spenser  was  the  first  to  introduce  our  marine  virtue, 
leaning  on  an  anchor,  a  symbol  as  inaccurate  as  it  is  vulgar 1 
for,  in  the  first  place,  anchors  are  not  for  men,  but  for  ships  ; 
and  in  the  second,  anchorage  is  the  characteristic  not  of  Hope, 
but  of  Faith,     Faith  is  dependent  but  Hope  is  aspirant 


340 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


Spenser,  however,  introduces  Hope  twice, — the  first  time  a* 
the  Virtue  with  the  anchor ;  but  afterwards  fallacious  Hope, 
far  more  beautifully,  in  the  Masque  of  Cupid  : 

"  She  always  smyld,  and  in  her  hand  did  hold 
An  holy-water  sprinckle,  dipt  in  deowe." 

§  lxxxvi.  Tenth  Capital.  First  side.  Luxury  (the  opposite 
of  chastity,  as  above  explained).  A  woman  with  a  jewelled 
chain  across  her  forehead,  smiling  as  she  looks  into  a  mirror, 
exposing  her  breast  by  drawing  down  her  dress  with  one 
hand.    Inscribed  "luxufja  sum  imensa." 

These  subordinate  forms  of  vice  are  not  met  with  so  fre- 
quently in  art  as  those  of  the  opposite  virtues,  but  in  Spenser 
we  find  them  all.    His  Luxury  rides  upon  a  goat  : 

"In  a  greene  gowne  he  clothed  was  full  faire, 
Which  underneath  did  hide  his  nlthinesse, 
And  in  his  hand  a  burning  hart  he  bare." 

But,  in  fact,  the  proper  and  comprehensive  expression  of 
this  vice  is  the  Cupid  of  the  ancients ;  and  there  is  not  any 
minor  circumstance  more  indicative  of  the  intense  difference 
between  the  mediaeval  and  the  Renaissance  spirit,  than  the 
mode  in  which  this  god  is  represented. 

I  have  above  said,  that  all  great  European  art  is  rooted  in 
the  thirteenth  century  ;  and  it  seems  to  me  that  there  is  a 
kind  of  central  year  about  which  wre  may  consider  the  energy 
of  the  middle  ages  to  be  gathered ;  a  kind  of  focus  of  time 
which,  by  what  is  to  my  mind  a  most  touching  and  impressive 
Divine  appointment,  has  been  marked  for  us  by  the  greatest 
writer  of  the  middle  ages,  in  the  first  words  he  utters  ;  namely, 
the  year  1300,  the  "  mezzo  del  cammin"  of  the  life  of  Dante. 
Now,  therefore,  to  Giotto,  the  contemporary  of  Dante,  and 
who  drew  Dante's  still  existing  portrait  in  this  very  year,  1300, 
we  may  always  look  for  the  central  medieval  idea  in  any  sub- 
ject :  and  observe  how  he  represents  Cupid  ;  as  one  of  three, 
a  terrible  trinity,  his  companions  being  Satan  and  Death  ;  and 
he  himself  "  a  lean  scarecrow,  with  bow,  quiver,  and  fillet,  and 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE. 


341 


feet  ending  in  claws/'*  thrust  down  into  Hell  by  Penance, 
from  the  presence  of  Purity  and  Fortitude.  Spenser,  who  haa 
been  so  often  noticed  as  furnishing  the  exactly  intermediate 
type  of  conception  between  the  mediaeval  and  the  Renaissance, 
indeed  represents  Cupid  under  the  form  of  a  beautiful  winged 
god,  and  riding  on  a  lion,  but  still  no  plaything  of  the  Graces^ 
but  full  of  terror  : 

"  With  that  the  darts  which  his  right  hand  did  straine 
Full  dreadfully  he  shooke,  that  all  did  quake, 
And  clapt  on  hye  his  coloured  vvinges  twaine, 
That  all  his  many  it  afraide  did  make."'' 

His  many,  that  is  to  say,  his  company  ;  and  observe  what  a 
company  it  is.  Before  him  go  Fancy,  Desire,  Doubt,  Danger, 
Fear,  Fallacious  Hope,  Dissemblance,  Suspicion,  Grief,  Fury, 
Displeasure,  Despite,  and  Cruelty.  After  him,  Reproach,  Re- 
pentance, Shame, 

"  Unquiet  Care,  and  fond  Unthrifty  head, 
Lewd  Losse  of  Time,  and  Sorrow  seeming  dead, 
Inconstant  Chaunge,  and  false  Disloyalty, 
Consuming  Biotise,  and  guilty  Dread 
Of  heavenly  vengeaunce  ;  faint  Infirmity, 
Vile  Poverty,  and  lastly  Death  with  infamy.'' 

Compare  these  two  pictures  of  Cupid  with  the  Love-god  of 
the  Renaissance,  as  he  is  represented  to  this  day,  confused 
with  angels,  in  every  faded  form  of  ornament  and  allegory,  in 
our  furniture,  our  literature,  and  our  minds. 

§  lxxxvii.  Second  side.  Gluttony.  A  woman  in  a  turban, 
with  a  jewelled  cup  in  her  right  hand.  In  her  left,  the  clawed 
limb  of  a  bird,  which  she  is  gnawing.  Inscribed  "  gula  sink 
okdine  SUM." 

Spenser's  Gluttony  is  more  than  usually  fine  : 

"  His  belly  was  upblowne  with  luxury, 
And  eke  witlrfatnesse  swollen  were  his  eyne, 
And  like  a  crane  his  necke  was  long  and  fyne, 
Wherewith  he  swallowed  up  excessive  feast, 
For  want  whereof  poore  people  oft  did  pyne," 

*  Lord  Lindsay,  vol.  ii.  letter  iv. 


342 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


He  rides  upon  a  swine,  and  is  clad  in  vine-leaves,  with  s 
garland  of  ivy.  Compare  the  account  of  Excesse,  above,  as 
opposed  to  Temperance. 

§  Lxxxvin.  Third  Hide.  Pride.  A  knight,  with  a  heavy  and 
stupid  face,  holding  a  sword  with  three  edges  :  his  armor 
covered  with  ornaments  in  the  form  of  roses,  and  with  two 
ears  attached  to  his  helmet,  The  inscription  indecipherable, 
all  bat  i(  supekbia." 

Spenser  has  analyzed  this  vice  with  great  care.  He  first 
represents  it  as  the  Pride  of  life  ;  that  is  to  say,  the  pride 
which  runs  in  a  deep  under  current  through  all  the  thoughts 
and  acts  of  men.  As  such,  it  is  a  feminine  vice,  directly  op- 
posed to  Holiness,  and  mistress  of  a  castle  called  the  House 
of  Pryde,  and  her  chariot  is  driven  by  Satan,  with  a  team  of 
beasts,  ridden  by  the  mortal  sins.  In  the  throne  chamber  cf 
her  palace  she  is  thus  described  : 

il  So  proud  she  shyned  in  her  princely  state, 
Looking  to  Heaven,  for  Earth  she  did  disdayne  ; 
And  sitting  high,  for  lowly  she  did  hate  : 
Lo,  underneath  her  scornefull  feete  was  layne 
A  dreadfull  dragon  with  an  hideous  trayne  ; 
And  in  her  hand  ?he  held  a  mirrhour  bright, 
Wherein  her  face  she  often  vewed  fayne." 

The  giant  Orgoglio  is  a  baser  species  of  pride,  born  of  the 
Earth  and  Eolus  ;  that  is  to  say,  of  sensual  and  vain  conceits. 
His  foster-father  and  the  keeper  of  his  castle  is  Ignorance. 
(Book  I.  canto  viii.) 

Finally,  Disdain  is  introduced,  in  other  places,  as  the  form 
of  pride  which  vents  itself  in  insult  to  others. 

§  lxxxix.  Fourth  side.  Anger.  A  woman  tearing  her  dress 
open  at  her  breast.  Inscription  here  undecipherable  ;  but  in 
the  Renaissance  copy  it  is  "  ira  crldelis  est  in  me.5' 

Giotto  represents  this  vice  under  the  same  symbol ;  but  it 
is  the  weakest  of  all  the  figures  in  the  Arena  Chapel.  The 
"Wrath "of  Spenser  rides  upon  a  lion,  brandishing  a  fire- 
brand,  his  garments  stained  with  blood.  Rage,  or  .Furor, 
occurs  subordmately  in  other  placed.    It  appears  to  me  verji 


TEE  DUCAL  PALACE. 


343 


strange  that  neither  Giotto  nor  Spenser  should  have  given 
any  representation  of  the  restrained  Anger,  which  is  infinitely 
the  most  terrible  ;  both  of  them  make  him  violent. 

§  xc.  Fifth  side.  Avarice.  An  old  woman  with  a  veil  ovel 
her  forehead,  and  a  bag  of  money  in  each  hand.  A  figure 
very  marvellous  for  power  of  expression.  The  throat  is  all 
made  up  of  sinews  with  skinny  channels  deep  between  them, 
strained  as  by  anxiety,  and  wasted  by  famine  ;  the  features 
hunger-bitten,  the  eyes  hollow,  the  look  glaring  and  intense, 
yet  without  the  slightest  caricature.  Inscribed  in  the  Renais- 
sance copy,  "  avaritia  impletok/' 

Spenser's  Avarice  (the  vice)  is  much  feebler  than  this  ;  but 
the  god  Mammon  and  his  kingdom  have  been  described  by 
him  with  his  usual  power.  Note  the  position  of  the  house  of 
Kichesse  : 

"  Betwixt  tliem  both  was  but  a  little  stride, 
That  did  the  House  of  Bichesse  from  Heil-mouth  divide." 

It  is  curious  that  most  moralists  confuse  avarice  with  covet- 
ousness,  although  they  are  vices  totally  different  in  their 
operation  on  the  human  heart,  and  on  the  frame  of  society. 
The  love  of  money,  the  sin  of  Judas  and  Ananias,  is  indeed 
the  root  of  all  evil  in  the  hardening  of  the  heart ;  but  •  ■  covet- 
ousness,  which  is  idolatry,"  the  sin  of  Ahab,  that  is,  the  inor- 
dinate desire  of  some  seen  or  recognized  good, — thus  destroy- 
ing peace  of  mind,-— is  probably  productive  of  much  more 
misery  in  heart,  and  error  in  conduct,  than  avarice  itself,  only 
covetousness  is  not  so  inconsistent  with  Christianity  :  for  cov- 
etousness  may  partly  proceed  from  vividness  of  the  affections 
and  hopes,  as  in  David,  and  be  consistent  with  much  charity; 
not  so  avarice. 

§  xci.  Sixth  side.  Idleness.  Acciclia.  A  figure  much 
broken  awav,  havmo;  had  its  arms  round  two  branches  of 
trees. 

I  do  not  know  why  Idleness  should  be  represented  as 
among  trees,  unless,  in  the  Italy  of  the  fourteenth  century, 
forest  country  wTas  considered  as  desert,  and  therefore  the 


344 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


domain  of  Idleness.  Spenser  fastens  this  vice  especially  upon 
the  clergy,— 

"Upon  a  slouthfull  asse  he  chose  to  ryde, 
Arayd  in  habit  blacke,  and  amis  thin. 
Like  to  an  holy  monck,  the  service  to  begin. 
And  in  his  hand  his  portesse  still  he  bare, 
That  mnch  was  worne,  but  therein  little  redd." 

And  he  properly  makes  him  the  leader  of  the  train  of  the 
vices  : 

"May  seem  the  wayne  was  very  evil  ledd, 
When  such  an  one  had  guiding  of  the  way." 

Observe  that  subtle  touch  of  truth  in  the  4 'wearing"  of  the 
portesse,  indicating  the  abuse  of  books  by  idle  readers,  so 
thoroughly  characteristic  of  unwilling  studentship  from  the 
schoolboy  upwards. 

§  xciii  Seventh  side.  Vanity.  She  is  smiling  complacently 
as  she  looks  into  a  mirror  in  her  lap.  Her  robe  is  embroid- 
ered with  roses,  and  roses  form  her  crown.  Undecipherable. 

There  is  some  confusion  in  the  expression  of  this  vice,  be- 
tween pride  in  the  personal  appearance  and  lightness  of  pur- 
pose. The  word  Vanitas  generally,  I  think,  bears,  in  the 
mediaeval  period,  the  sense  given  it  in  Scripture.  "Let  not 
him  that  is  deceived  trust  in  Vanity,  for  Vanity  shall  be  his 
recompense. "  "Vanity  of  Vanities."  "The  Lord  knoweth 
the  thoughts  of  the  wise,  that  they  are  vain."  It  is  difficult 
to  find  this  sin, — which,  after  Pride,  is  the  most  universal,  per- 
haps the  most  fatal,  of  all,  fretting  the  whole  depth  of  our 
humanity  into  storm  "to  waft  a  feather  or  to  drown  a  fly," — 
definitely  expressed  in  art.  Even  Spenser,  I  think,  has  only 
partially  expressed  it  under  the  figure  of  Phsedria,  more 
properly  Idle  Mirth,  in  the  second  book.  The  idea  is,  how- 
ever, entirely  worked  out  in  the  Vanity  Fair  of  the  "Pilgrim's 
Progress." 

§  xciii.  Eighth  side.  Envy.  One  of  the  noblest  pieces  of 
expression  in  the  series.  She  is  pointing  malignantly  witb 
her  finger  ;  a  serpent  is  wreathed  about  her  head  like  a  cap, 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE. 


345 


another  forms  the  girdle  of  her  waist,  and  a  dragon  rests  in 
her  lap. 

Giotto  has,  however,  represented  her,  with  still  greater 
subtlety,  as  having  her  fingers  terminating  in  claws,  and  rais- 
ing her  right  hand  with  an  expression  partly  of  impotent  re- 
gret, partly  of  involuntary  grasping  ;  a  serpent,  issuing  from 
her  mouth,  is  about  to  bite  her  between  the  eyes ;  she  has 
long  membranous  ears,  horns  on  her  head,  and  flames  con- 
suming her  body.  The  Envy  of  Spenser  is  only  inferior  to 
that  of  Giotto,  because  the  idea  of  folly  and  quickness  of  hear- 
ing is  not  suggested  by  the  size  of  the  ear  :  in  other  respects 
it  is  even  finer,  joining  the  idea  of  fury,  in  the  wolf  on  which 
he  rides,  with  that  of  corruption  on  his  lips,  and  of  discolora- 
tion or  distortion  in  the  whole  mind  : 

"  Malicious  Envy  rode 
Upon  a  ravenous  woife,  and  still  did  chaw 
Between  his  cankred  teeth  a  venemous  tode, 
That  all  the  poison  ran  about  his  jaw. 
All  in  a  Jcirtle  of  diseotourd  say 
He  clothed  was,  ypaynted  full  of  eies, 
And  in  his  bosome  secretly  there  lay 
An  hatefull  snake,  the  which  his  taile  uptyes 
In  mauy  folds,  and  mortall  sting  imply es." 

He  has  developed  the  idea  in  more  detail,  and  still  more 
loathsomely,  in  the  twelfth  canto  of  the  fifth  book. 

§  xciv.  Eleventh  Capital.  Its  decoration  is  composed  of 
eight  birds,  arranged  as  shown  in  Plate  V.  of  the  "  Seven 
Lamps,"  which,  however,  was  sketched  from  the  Renaissance 
copy.  These  birds  are  all  varied  in  form  and  action,  but  not 
so  as  to  require  special  description. 

§  xcv.  Twelfth  Capital.  This  has  been  very  interesting, 
but  is  grievously  defaced,  four  of  its  figures  being  entirely 
broken  away,  and  the  character  of  two  others  quite  undeci- 
pherable. It  is  fortunate  that  it  has  been  copied  in  the  thirty- 
third  capital  of  the  Renaissance  series,  from  which  we  are  able 
to  identify  the  lost  figures. 

First  side.    Misery.    A  man  witl*  ^  wan  face,  seemingly 


346 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


pleading  with  a  child  who  has  its  hands  crossed  on  its  breast* 
There  is  a  buckle  at  his  own  breast  in  the  shape  of  a  cloven 
heart.    Inscribed  "miseria." 

The  intention  of  this  figure  is  not  altogether  apparent,  as  it 
is  by  no  means  treated  as  a  vice  ;  the  distress  seeming  real, 
and  like  that  of  a  parent  in  poverty  mourning  over  his  child. 
Yet  it  seems  placed  here  as  in  direct  opposition  to  the  virtue 
of  Cheerfulness,  which  follows  next  in  order  ;  rather,  however, 
I  believe,  with  the  intention  of  illustrating  human  life,  than 
the  character  of  the  vice  which,  as  we  have  seen,  Dante  placed 
in  the  circle  of  hell.  The  word  in  that  case  would,  I  think, 
have  been  "  Tristitia,"  the  "  unholy  Griefe"  of  Spenser — 

H  All  in  sable  sorrowfully  clad, 
Downe  hanging  his  dull  head  with  heavy  chere  : 

A  pair  of  pincers  in  his  hand  he  had, 
With  which  he  pinched  people  to  the  heart." 

He  has  farther  amplified  the  idea  under  another  figure  in 
the  fifth  canto  of  the  fourth  book  : 

"  His  name  was  Care  ;  a  blacksmith  by  his  trade, 
That  neither  day  nor  night  from  working  spared  ; 
But  to  small  purpose  yron  wedges  made  : 
Those  be  unquiet  thoughts  that  carefull  minds  invade. 
Rude  was  his  garment,  and  to  rags  all  rent, 
Ne  better  had  he,  ne  for  better  cared  ; 
With  blistered  hands  among  the  cinders  brent." 

It  is  to  be  noticed,  however,  that  in  the  Renaissance  copy 
this  figure  is  stated  to  be,  not  Miseria,  but  "Misericordia." 
The  contraction  is  a  very  moderate  one,  Misericordia  being 
in  old  MS.  written  always  as  "  Mia."  If  this  reading  be  right, 
the  figure  is  placed  here  rather  as  the  companion,  than  the 
opposite,  of  Cheerfulness  ;  unless,  indeed,  it  is  intended  to 
unite  the  idea  of  Mercy  and  Compassion  with  that  of  Sacred 
Sorrow. 

§  xcvi.  Second  side.  Cheerfulness.  A  woman  with  long 
flowing  hair,  crowned  with  roses,  playing  on  a  tambourine, 
and  with  open  lips,  as  singing.    Inscribed  6  •  alacpjtas." 

We  have  already  met  with  this  virtue  among  those  espe* 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE. 


347 


cially  set  by  Spenser  to  attend  on  Womanhood.  It  is  inscribed 
in  the  Renaissance  copy,  "  alacrtjtas  chanit  mecum."  Note 
the  gutturals  of  the  rich  and  fully  developed  Venetian  dialect 
now  affecting  the  Latin,  which  is  free  from  them  in  the  earlier 
capitals. 

§  xcvu.  Third  side.  Destroyed  ;  but,  from  the  copy,  we 
find  it  has  been  Stultitia,  Folly  ;  and  it  is  there  represented 
simply  as  a  man  riding,  a  sculpture  worth  the  consideration 
of  the  English  residents  who  bring  their  horses  to  Venice. 
Giotto  gives  Stultitia  a  feather,  cap,  and  club.  In  early  man- 
uscripts he  is  always  eating  with  one  hand,  and  striking  with 
the  other  ;  in  later  ones  he  has  a  cap  and  bells,  or  cap  crested 
with  a  cock's  head,  whence  the  word  "  coxcomb." 

§  xcvni.  Fourth  side.  Destroyed,  all  but  a  book,  which 
identifies  it  with  the  "  Celestial  Chastity  "  of  the  Renaissance 
copy  ;  there  represented  as  a  woman  pointing  to  a  book  (con- 
necting the  convent  life  with  the  pursuit  of  literature  ?). 

Spenser's  Chastity,  Britomart,  is  the  most  exquisitely 
wrought  of  all  his  characters  ;  but,  as  before  noticed,  she  is 
not  the  Chastity  of  the  convent,  but  of  wedded  life. 

§  xcix.  Fifth  side.  Only  a  scroll  is  left ;  but,  from  the 
copy,  we  find  it  has  been  Honesty  or  Truth.  Inscribed  "hon- 
estatem  diligo."  It  is  very  curious,  that  among  all  the  Chris- 
tian systems  of  the  virtues  which  we  have  examined,  we  should 
find  this  one  in  Venice  only. 

The  Truth  of  Spenser,  Una,  is,  after  Chastity,  the  most  ex- 
quisite character  in  the  "Faerie  Queen." 

§  c.  Sixth  side.  Falsehood.  An  old  woman  leaning  on  a 
crutch  ;  and  inscribed  in  the  copy,  "  falsitas  in  me  semper 
est."  The  Fidessa  of  Spenser,  the  great  enemy  of  Una,  or 
Truth,  is  far  more  subtly  conceived,  probably  not  without 
special  reference  Ito  the  Papal  deceits.  In  her  true  form  she 
is  a  loathsome  hag,  but  in  her  outward  aspect, 

u  A  goodly  lady,  clad  in  scarlot  red, 
Purfled  with  gold  and  pearly  ;    .    .  . 
Her  wanton  palfrey  all  was  overspred 
With  tinsell  trappings,  woven  like  a  wave, 
Whose  bridle  rung  with  golden  bels  and  bosses  brave." 


848 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


Dante's  Fraud,  Geryon,  is  the  finest  personification  of  all, 
but  the  description  (Inferno,  canto  xvn.)  is  too  long  to  be 
quoted. 

§  ci.  Seventh  side.  Injustice.  An  armed  figure  holding  a 
halbert ;  so  also  in  the  copy.  The  figure  used  by  Giotto 
with  the  particular  intention  of  representing  unjust  govern- 
ment, is  represented  at  the  gate  of  an  embattled  castle  in  a 
forest,  between  rocks,  while  various  deeds  of  violence  are  com- 
mitted at  his  feet.  Spenser's  "  Adicia  "  is  a  furious  hag,  at 
last  transformed  into  a  tiger. 

Eighth  side.  A  man  with  a  dagger  looking  sorrowfully  at 
a  child,  who  turns  its  back  to  him.  I  cannot  understand  this 
figure.  It  is  inscribed  in  the  copy,  "  astinecia  (Abstinentia  ?) 
opitima  ?  " 

§  en.  Thirteenth  Capital.  It  has  lions'  heads  all  round, 
coarsely  cut. 

Fourteenth  Capital.  It  has  various  animals,  each  sitting 
on  its  haunches.  Three  dogs,  one  a  greyhound,  one  long- 
haired, one  short-haired  with  bells  about  its  neck ;  two 
monkeys,  one  with  fan-shaped  hair  projecting  on  each  side  of 
its  face ;  a  noble  boar,  with  its  tusks,  hoofs,  and  bristles 
sharply  cut ;  and  a  lion  and  lioness. 

§  cm.  Fifteenth  Capital.  The  pillar  to  which  it  belongs  is 
thicker  than  the  rest,  as  well  as  the  one  over  it  in  the  upper 
arcade. 

The  sculpture  of  this  capital  is  also  much  coarser,  and 
seems  to  me  later  than  that  of  the  rest ;  and  it  has  no  inscrip- 
tion, which  is  embarrassing,  as  its  subjects  have  had  much 
meaning ;  but  I  believe  Selvatico  is  right  in  supposing  it  to 
have  been  intended  for  a  general  illustration  of  Idleness. 

First  side.  A  woman  with  a  distaff ;  her  girdle  richly 
decorated,  and  fastened  by  a  buckle. 

Second  side.  A  youth  in  a  long  mantle,  with  a  rose  in  his 
hand. 

Third  side.  A  woman  in  a  turban  stroking  a  puppy  which 
she  holds  by  the  haunches. 

Fourth  side.    A  man  with  a  parrot. 

Fifth  side.    A  woman  in  a  very  rich  costume,  with  braided 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE. 


349 


hair,  and  dress  thrown  into  minute  folds,  holding  a  rosary  (?) 
in  her  left  hand,  her  right  on  her  breast. 

Sixth  side.  A  man  with  a  very  thoughtful  face,  laying  his 
hand  upon  the  leaves  of  the  capital. 

Seventh  side.    A  crowned  lady,  with  a  rose  in  her  hand. 

Eighth  side.  A  boy  with  a  ball  in  his  left  hand,  and  his 
right  laid  on  his  breast. 

§  civ.  Sixteenth  Capital.  It  is  decorated  with  eight  large 
heads,  partly  intended  to  be  grotesque,*  and  very  coarse  and 
bad,  except  only  that  in  the  sixth  side,  which  is  totally  dif- 
ferent from  all  the  rest,  and  looks  like  a  portrait.  *  It  is  thin, 
thoughtful  and  dignified  ;  thoroughly  fine  in  every  way.  It 
wears  a  cap  surmounted  by  two  winged  lions  ;  and,  therefore, 
I  think  Selvatico  must  have  inaccurately  written  the  list  given 
in  the  note,  for  this  head  is  certainly  meant  to  express  the 
superiority  of  the  Venetian  character  over  that  of  other  na- 
tions. Nothing  is  more  remarkable  in  all  early  sculpture, 
than  its  appreciation  of  the  signs  of  dignity  of  character  in 
the  features,  and  the  way  in  which  it  can  exalt  the  principal 
figure  in  any  subject  by  a  few  touches. 

§  cv.  Seventeenth  Capital.  This  has  been  so  destroyed  by 
the  sea  wind,  which  sweeps  at  this  point  of  the  arcade  round 
the  angle  of  the  palace,  that  its  inscriptions  are  no  longer 
legible,  and  great  part  of  its  figures  are  gone.  Selvatico 
states  them  as  follows  :  Solomon,  the  wise  ;  Priscian,  the 
grammarian  ;  Aristotle,  the  logician  ;  Tully,  the  orator ;  Py- 
thagoras, the  phi]osopher  ;  Archimedes,  the  mechanic  ;  Or- 
pheus, the  musician  ;  Ptolemy  the  astronomer.  The  frag- 
ments actually  remaining  are  the  following  : 

First  side.  A  figure  with  two  books,  in  a  robe  richly  dec- 
orated with  circles  of  roses.    Inscribed  "  Salomon  (sap)iens." 

Second  side.  A  man  with  one  book,  poring  over  it :  he  has 
had  a  long  stick  or  reed  in  his  hand.  Of  inscription  only  the 
letters  st  gbammatic"  remain. 

*  Selvatico  states  that  these  are  intended  to  be  representative  of  eight 
nations,  Latins,  Tartars,  Turks,  Hungarians,  Greeks,  Goths,  Egyptians, 
and  Persians.  Either  the  inscriptions  are  now  defaced  or  I  have  care* 
lessly  omitted  to  note  them. 


350 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


TJiird  side.  "  aristotle  :  "  so  inscribed.  He  has  a  peaked 
double  beard  and  a  flat  cap,  from  under  which  his  long  hair 
falls  down  his  back. 

Fourth  side.  Destroyed. 

Fifth  side.  Destroyed,  all  but  a  board  with  three  (counters  ?) 
on  it. 

Sixth  side.     A  figure  with  compasses.     Inscribed  "  geo- 

MET  *  *  " 

Seventh  side.    Nothing  is  left  but  a  guitar  with  its  handle 
wrought  into  a  lion's  head. 
Eighth  side.  Destroyed. 

§  cvi.  We  have  now  arrived  at  the  Eighteenth  Capital,  the 
most  interesting  and  beautiful  of  the  palace.  It  represents 
the  planets,  and  the  sun  and  moon,  in  those  divisions  of  the 
zodiac  known  to  astrologers  as  their  "  houses  ;  "  and  perhaps 
indicates,  by  the  position  in  which  they  are  placed,  the  period 
of  the  year  at  which  this  great  corner-stone  was  laid.  The  in- 
scriptions above  have  been  in  quaint  Latin  rhyme,  but  are 
now  decipherable  only  in  fragments,  and  that  with  the  more 
difficulty  because  the  rusty  iron  bar  that  binds  the  abacus  has 
broken  awTay,  in  its  expansion,  nearly  all  the  upper  portidns 
of  the  stone,  and  with  them  the  signs  of  contraction,  which 
are  of  great  importance.  I  shall  give  the  fragments  of  them 
that  I  could  decipher  ;  first  as  the  letters  actually  stand  (put- 
ting those  of  which  I  am  doubtful  in  brackets,  with  a  note  of 
interrogation),  and  then  as  I  would  read  them. 

§  cvil  It  should  be  premised  that,  in  modern  astrology,  the 
houses  of  the  planets  are  thus  arranged  : 


The  house  of  the  Sun, 
Moon, 
of  Mars, 
"  Venus, 
"  Mercury, 
"  Jupiter, 
"  Saturn, 


is  Leo. 
"  Cancer. 

"  Aries  and  Scorpio. 
"  Taurus  and  Libra. 
"  Gemini  and  Virgo. 
"  Sagittarius  and  Pisces, 
"  Capricorn. 


Herschel,    "  Aquarius. 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE. 


351 


The  Herschel  planet  being  of  course  unknown  to  the  old 
astrologers,  we  have  only  the  other  six  planetary  powers,  to- 
gether with  the  sun  ;  and  Aquarius  is  assigned  to  Saturn  as 
his  house.  I  could  not  find  Capricorn  at  all  ;  but  this  sign 
may  have  been  broken  away,  as  the  whole  capital  is  grievously 
defaced.  The  eighth  side  of  the  capital,  which  the  Herschel 
planet  would  now  have  occupied,  bears  a  sculpture  of  the 
Creation  of  Man  :  it  is  the  most  conspicuous  side,  the  one  set 
diagonally  across  the  angle  ;  or  the  eighth  in  our  usual  mode 
of  reading  the  capitals,  from  which  I  shall  not  depart. 

§  cviii.  The  first  Hide,  then,  or  that  towards  the  Sea,  has 
Aquarius,  as  the  house  of  Saturn,  represented  as  a  seated  fig- 
ure beautifully  draped,  pouring  a  stream  of  water  out  of  an 
amphora  over  the  leaves  of  the  capital.    His  inscription  is  : 

"et  saturne  domus  (eclocerunt  ?)  Is  7bre." 

§  cix.  Second  side.  Jupiter,  in  his  houses  Sagittarius  and 
Pisces,  represented  throned,  with  an  ujDper  dress  disposed  in 
radiating  folds  about  his  neck,  and  hanging  down  ujdoii  his 
breast,  ornamented  by  small  pendent  tref oiled  studs  or  bosses. 
He  wears  the  drooping  bonnet  and  long  gloves  ;  but  the  folds 
about  the  neck,  shot  forth  to  express  the  rays  of  the  star,  are 
the  most  remarkable  characteristic  of  the  figure.  He  raises 
his  sceptre  in  his  left  hand  over  Sagittarius,  represented  as  the 
centaur  Chiron  ;  and  holds  two  thunnies  in  his  right.  Some- 
thing rough,  like  a  third  fish,  has  been  broken  away  below 
them  ;  the  more  easily  because  this  part  of  the  group  is  en- 
tirely undercut,  and  the  two  fish  glitter  in  the  light,  relieved 
on  the  deep  gloom  below  the  leaves.    The  inscription  is  : 

"iNDE  JOVl'*  DONA  PISES  SIMUL  ATQ8  CTROlvA,," 

Or, 

"Lade  Jovis  dona 
Pisces  simul  atqne  Chirona." 

*  The  comma  in  these  inscriptions  stands  for  a  small  cuneiform  mark, 
I  helieve  of  contraction,  and  the  small  3  for  a  zigzag  mark  of  the  same 
kind.    The  dots  or  periods  are  similarly  marked  on  the  stone. 

^ 


352 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


Domus  is,  I  suppose,  to  be  understood  before  Jovis  :  "Then 
the  house  of  Jupiter  gives  (or  governs?)  the  fishes  and 
Chiron. " 

§  ex.  Third  side.  Mars,  in  his  houses  Aries  and  Scorpio. 
Represented  as  a  very  ugly  knight  in  chain  mail,  seated  side- 
ways on  the  ram,  whose  horns  are  broken  away,  and  having  a 
large  scorpion  in  his  left  hand,  whose  tail  is  broken  also,  to 
the  infinite  injury  of  the  group,  for  it  seems  to  have  curled 
across  to  the  angle  leaf,  and  formed  a  bright  line  of  light,  like 
the  fish  in  the  hand  of  Jupiter.  The  knight  carries  a  shield, 
on  which  fire  and  water  are  sculptured,  and  bears  a  banner 
upon  his  lance,  with  the  word  "deferosum,"  which  puzzled 
me  for  some  time.  It  should  be  read,  I  believe,  "  De  ferro 
sum;"  which  would  be  good  Venetian  Latin  for  "X  am  of 
iron." 

§  cxi.  Fourth  side.  The  Sun,  in  his  house  Leo.  Repre- 
sented under  the  figure  of  Apollo,  sitting  on  the  Lion,  with 
rays  shooting  from  his  head,  and  the  world  in  his  hand, 
The  inscription : 

"tu  es  domu'  sous  (quo*?)  signe  leoni." 

I  believe  the  first  phrase  is,  "  Tunc  est  Domus  solis  ; "  but 
there  is  a  letter  gone  after  the  "  quo,"  and  I  have  no  idea 
what  case  of  signum  a  signe  "  stands  for. 

§  cxn.  Fifth  side.  Venus,  in  her  houses  Taurus  and  Libra. 
The  most  beautiful  figure  of  the  series.  She  sits  upon  the 
bull,  who  is  deep  in  the  dewlap,  and  better  cut  than  most  of 
the  animals,  holding  a  mirror  in  her  right  hand,  and  the  scales 
in  her  left.  Her  breast  is  very  nobly  and  tenderly  indicated 
under  the  folds  of  her  drapery,  which  is  exquisitely  studied  in 
its  fall.    What  is  left  of  the  inscription,  runs  : 

"  LIBRA  CUMTAURO  DOMUS  *  *  *  PURIOR  AUR  *." 

§  cxni.  Sixth  side.  Mercury,  represented  as  wearing  a 
pendent  cap,  and  holding  a  book  :  he  is  supported  by  three 
children  in  reclining  attitudes,  representing  his  houses  Gemini 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE. 


353 


and  Virgo.  But  I  cannot  understand  the  inscription,  though 
more  than  usually  legible. 

"  OCCUPAT  ERIGONE  STIBONS  GEMINUQ'  LACONE." 

§  cxrv.  Seventh  side.  The  Moon,  in  her  house  Cancer.  This 
sculpture,  which  is  turned  towards  the  Piazzetta,  is  the  most 
picturesque  of  the  series.  The  moon  is  represented  as  a 
woman  in  a  boat,  upon  the  sea,  who  raises  the  crescent  in  her 
right  hand,  and  with  her  left  draws  a  crab  out  of  the  waves, 
up  the  boat's  side.  The  moon  was,  I  believe,  represented  in 
Egyptian  sculptures  as  in  a  boat ;  but  I  rather  think  the  Vene- 
tian was  not  aware  of  this,  and  that  he  meant  to  express  the 
peculiar  sweetness  of  the  moonlight  at  Venice,  as  seen  across 
the  lagoons.  Whether  this  was  intended  by  putting  the  planet 
in  the  boat,  may  be  questionable,  but  assuredly  the  idea  was 
meant  to  be  conveyed  by  the  dress  of  the  figure.  For  all  the 
draperies  of  the  other  figures  on  this  capital,  as  well  as  on  the 
rest  of  the  facade,  are  disposed  in  severe  but  full  folds,  show- 
ing little  of  the  forms  beneath  them  ;  but  the  moon's  drapery 
ripples  down  to  her  feet,  so  as  exactly  to  suggest  the  trembling 
of  the  moonlight  on  the  waves.  This  beautiful  idea  is  highly 
characteristic  of  the  thoughtfulness  of  the  early  sculptors  : 
five  hundred  men  may  be  now  found  who  could  have  cut  the 
drapery,  as  such,  far  better,  for  one  who  would  have  disposed 
its  folds  with  this  intention.    The  inscription  is  : 

"lune  canceu  domu  t.  pbet  iorbe  signoru." 

§  cxv.  Eighth  side.  God  creating  Man.  Represented  as  a 
throned  figure,  with  a  glory  round  the  head,  laying  his  left 
hand  on  the  head  of  a  naked  youth,  and  sustaining  him  with 
his  right  hand.  The  inscription  puzzled  me  for  a  long  time  ; 
but  except  the  lost  r  and  m  of  "  formavit,"  and  a  letter  quite 
undefaced,  but  to  me  unintelligible,  before  the  word  Eva,  in 
the  shape  of  a  figure  of  7,  I  have  safely  ascertained  the  rest. 

"  delimo  dsada  deco  stafo  *  *  avitTeva." 

Or 

"  De  limo  Dominus  Adam,  de  costa  fo(rm)  avit  Evarn 
From  the  dust  the  Lord  made  Adam,  and  from  the  rib  Eve. 
Vol.  11-23 


354 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


I  imagine  the  whole  of  this  capital,  therefore — the  principal 
one  of  the  old  palace, — to  have  been  intended  to  signify,  first, 
the  formation  of  the  planets  for  the  service  of  man  upon  the 
earth  ;  secondly,  the  entire  subjection  of  the  fates  and  fortune 
of  man  to  the  will  of  God,  as  determined  from  the  time  when 
the  earth  and  stars  wrere  made,  and,  in  fact,  written  in  the 
volume  of  the  stars  themselves. 

Thus  interpreted,  the  doctrines  of  judicial  astrology  were 
not  only  consistent  with,  but  an  aid  to,  the  most  spiritual  and 
humble  Christianity. 

In  the  workmanship  and  grouping  of  its  foliage,  this  capital 
is,  on  the  whole,  the  finest  I  knowr  in  Europe.  The  sculptor 
has  put  his  whole  strength  into  it.  I  trust  that  it  will  appear 
among  the  other  Venetian  casts  lately  taken  for  the  Crystal 
Palace  ;  but  if  not,  I  have  myself  cast  all  its  figures,  and  two 
of  its  leaves,  and  I  intend  to  give  drawings  of  them  on  a  large 
scale  in  my  folio  work. 

§  cxvi.  Nineteenth  Capital.  This  is,  of  course,  the  second 
counting  from  the  Sea,  on  the  Piazzetta  side  of  the  palace, 
calling  that  of  the  Fig-tree  angle  the  first. 

It  is  the  most  important  capital,  as  a  piece  of  evidence  in 
point  of  dates,  in  the  whole  palace.  Great  pains  have  been 
taken  with  it,  and  in  some  portion  of  the  accompanying  fur- 
niture or  ornaments  of  each  of  its  figures  a  small  piece  of 
colored  marble  has  been  inlaid,  with  peculiar  significance  : 
for  the  capital  represents  the  arts  of  sculpture  and  architecture  ; 
and  the  inlaying  of  the  colored  stones  (which  are  far  too  small 
to  be  effective  at  a  distance,  and  are  found  in  this  one  capital 
only  of  the  whole  series)  is  merely  an  expression  of  the  archi- 
tect's feeling  of  the  essential  importance  of  this  art  of  inlaying, 
and  of  the  value  of  color  generally  in  his  own  art. 

§  cxvu.  First  side.  "  st.  simplicius  "  :  so  inscribed.  A 
figure  working  with  a  pointed  chisel  on  a  small  oblong  block 
of  green  cerpentine,  about  four  inches  long  by  one  wide,  inlaid 
in  the  capital.  The  chisel  is,  of  course,  in  the  left  hand,  but 
the  right  is  held  up  open,  with  the  palm  outwards. 

Second  side.  A  crowTned  figure,  carving  the  image  of  a 
child  on  a  small  statue,  with  a  ground  of  red  marble.  The 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE. 


355 


sculptured  figure  is  highly  finished,  and  is  in  type  of  head 
much  like  the  Ham  or  Japheth  at  the  Vine  angle.  Inscription 
effaced. 

Third  side.  An  old  man,  uncrowned,  but  with  curling  hair, 
at  work  on  a  small  column,  w7ith  its  capital  complete,  and  a 
little  shaft  of  dark  red  marble,  spotted  with  paler  red.  Tho 
capital  is  precisely  of  the  form  of  that  found  in  the  palace  of 
the  Tiepolos  and  the  other  thirteenth  century  work  of  Venice. 
This  one  figure  would  be  quite  enough,  without  any  other  evi- 
dence whatever,  to  determine  the  date  of  this  flank  of  the 
Ducal  Palace  as  not  later,  at  all  events,  than  the  first  half  of 
the  fourteenth  century.    Its  inscription  is  broken  away,  all 

but  "  DISIPULO." 

Fourth  side.  A  crowned  figure  ;  but  the  object  on  which 
it  has  been  working  is  broken  away,  and  all  the  inscription 
except  "  st.  e(n?)as." 

Fifth  side.  A  man  with  a  turban,  and  a  sharp  chisel,  at 
work  on  a  kind  of  panel  or  niche,  the  back  of  which  is  of  red 
marble. 

Sixth  side.  A  crowned  figure,  with  hammer  and  chisel, 
employed  on  a  little  range  of  windoivs  of  the  fifth  order,  hav- 
ing roses  set,  instead  of  orbicular  ornaments,  between  the 
spandrils,  with  a  rich  cornice,  and  a  band  of  marble  inserted 
above.  This  sculpture  assures  us  of  the  date  of  the  fifth  order 
window,  which  it  shows  to  have  been  universal  in  the  early 
fourteenth  century. 

There  are  also  five  arches  in  the  block  on  which  the  sculp- 
tor is  working,  marking  the  frequency  of  the  number  five  in 
the  window  groups  of  the  time. 

Seventh  side.  A  figure  at  work  on  a  pilaster,  with  Lombar- 
dic  thirteenth  century  capital  (for  account  of  the  series  of  forms 
in  Venetian  capitals,  see  the  final  Appendix  of  the  next  vol- 
ume), the  shaft  of  dark  red  spotted  marble. 

Eighth  side.  A  figure  with  a  rich  open  crown,  working  on 
a  delicate  recumbent  statue,  the  head  of  which  is  laid  on  a 
pillow  covered  with  a  rich  chequer  pattern  ;  the  whole  sup- 
ported on  a  block  of  dark  red  marble.  Inscription  broken 
away,  all  but  "  st.  sym.  (Symmachus  ?)  tv  **  anvs."  There 


S56 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


appear,  therefore,  altogether  to  have  been  five  saints,  two  ol 
them  popes,  if  Simplicius  is  the  pope  of  that  name  (three  in 
front,  two  on  the  fourth  and  sixth  sides),  alternating  with  the 
three  uncrowned  workmen  in  the  manual  labor  of  sculpture. 
I  did  not,  therefore,  insult  our  present  architects  in  saying 
above  that  they  *  ought  to  work  in  the  mason's  yard  with 
their  men."  It  would  be  difficult  to  find  a  more  interesting 
expression  of  the  devotional  spirit  in  which  all  great  work  was 
undertaken  at  this  time. 

§  cxvin.  Twentieth  Capital.  It  is  adorned  with  heads  of 
animals,  and  is  the  finest  of  the  whole  series  in  the  broad 
massiveness  of  its  effect ;  so  simply  characteristic,  indeed,  of 
the  grandeur  of  style  in  the  entire  building,  that  I  chose  it  for 
the  first  Plate  in  my  folio  work.  In  spite  of  the  sternness  of 
its  plan,  however,  it  is  wrought  with  great  care  in  surface  de- 
tail ;  and  the  ornamental  value  of  the  minute  chasing  obtained 
by  the  delicate  plumage  of  the  birds,  and  the  clustered  bees 
on  the  honey-comb  in  the  bear's  mouth,  opposed  to  the  strong 
simplicity  of  its  general  form,  cannot  be  too  much  admired. 
There  are  also  more  grace,  life,  and  variety  in  the  sprays  of 
foliage  on  each  side  of  it,  and  under  the  heads,  than  in  any 
other  capital  of  the  series,  though  the  earliness  of  the  work- 
manship is  marked  by  considerable  hardness  and  coldness  in 
the  larger  heads.  A  Northern  Gothic  workman,  better  ac^ 
quainted  with  bears  and  wolves  than  it  was  possible  to  become 
in  St.  Mark's  Place,  would  have  put  far  more  life  into  these 
heads,  but  he  could  not  have  composed  them  more  skilfully. 

§  cxix.  First  side.  A  lion  with  a  stag's  haunch  in  his  mouth. 
Those  readers  who  have  the  folio  plate,  should  observe  the 
peculiar  way  in  which  the  ear  is  cut  into  the  shape  of  a  ring, 
jagged  or  furrowed  on  the  edge  ;  an  archaic  mode  of  treat- 
ment peculiar,  in  the  Ducal  Palace,  to  the  lions'  heads  of  the 
fourteenth  century.  The  moment  we  reach  the  Renaissance 
work,  the  lions'  ears  are  smooth.    Inscribed  simply,  "leo." 

Second  side.  A  wolf  with  a  dead  bird  in  his  mouth,  its 
body  wonderfully  true  in  expression  of  the  passiveness  of 
death.  The  feathers  are  each  wrought  with  a  central  quill 
and  radiating  filaments.    Inscribed  "  lupus." 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE. 


357 


Third  side.  A  fox,  not  at  all  like  one,  with  a  dead  cock  in 
his  mouth,  its  comb  and  pendent  neck  admirably  designed  so 
as  to  fall  across  the  great  angle  leaf  of  the  capital,  its  tail  hang- 
ing down  on  the  other  side,  its  long  straight  feathers  exqui- 
sitely cut.    Inscribed  "  (vulp?)is." 

Fourth  side.    Entirely  broken  away. 

Fifth  side.  "  aper."  Well  tusked,  with  a  head  of  maize  in 
his  mouth ;  at  least  I  suppose  it  to  be  maize,  though  shaped 
like  a  pine-cone. 

Sixth  side.  "  chanis."  With  a  bone,  very  ill  cut ;  and  a 
bald-headed  species  of  dog,  with  ugly  flap  ears. 

Seventh  side.    "  musctpulus."    With  a  rat  (?)  in  his  mouth. 

Eighth  side,  "ursus."  With  a  honeycomb,  covered  with 
large  bees. 

§  cxx.  Twenty-first  Capital.  Represents  the  principal  in- 
ferior professions. 

First  side.  An  old  man,  with  his  brow  deeply  wrinkled,  and 
very  expressive  features,  beating  in  a  kind  of  mortar  with  a 
hammer.    Inscribed  "  lapicida  sum." 

Second  side.  I  believe,  a  goldsmith  ;  he  is  striking  a  small 
flat  bowl  or  patera,  on  a  pointed  anvil,  with  a  light  hammer. 
The  inscription  is  gone. 

Third  side.  A  shoemaker  with  a  shoe  in  his  hand,  and  an 
instrument  for  cutting  leather  suspended  beside  him.  In- 
scription undecipherable. 

Fourth  side.  Much  broken.  A  carpenter  planing  a  beam 
resting  on  two  horizontal  logs.    Inscribed  "  carpentarius  sum." 

Fifth  side.  A  figure  shovelling  fruit  into  a  tub  ;  the  latter 
very  carefully  carved  from  what  appears  to  have  been  an  ex- 
cellent piece  of  cooperage.  Two  thin  laths  cross  each  other 
over  the  top  of  it.  The  inscription,  now  lost,  was,  according 
to  Selvatico,  6 '  mensurator  "  ? 

Sixth  side.  A  man,  with  a  large  hoe,  breaking  the  ground, 
which  lies  in  irregular  furrows  and  clods  before  him.  Now 
undecipherable,  but  according  to  Selvatico,  "  agrickola." 

Seventh  side.  A  man,  in  a  pendent  cap,  writing  on  a  large 
scroll  which  fails  over  his  knee.    Inscribed  "notarius  sum." 

Eighth  side.    A  man  forging  a  sword,  or  scythe-blade  :  he 


358 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


wears  a  large  skull-cap ;  beats  with  a  large  hammer  on  a  solid 
anvil ;  and  is  inscribed  "  faber  sum." 

§  cxxi.  Twenty-second  Capital.  The  Ages  of  Man  ;  and 
the  influence  of  the  planets  on  human  life. 

First  side.  The  moon,  governing  infancy  for  four  years, 
according  to  Selvatico.  I  have  no  note  of  this  side,  having,  I 
suppose,  been  prevented  from  raising  the  ladder  against  it  by 
some  fruit-stall  or  other  impediment  in  the  regular  course  of 
my  examination  ;  and  then  forgotten  to  return  to  it. 

Second  side.  A  child  with  a  tablet,  and  an  alphabet  in- 
scribed on  it.    The  legend  above  is 

"  MECUREU'  DNT.  PUERICIE  PAN.  X." 

Or,  ''Mercurius  dominatur  pueritise  per  annos  X."  (Selvatico 
reads  VII.)  "  Mercury  governs  boyhood  for  ten  (or  seven) 
years.'' 

Third  side.  An  older  youth,  with  another  tablet,  but 
broken.  Inscribed 

* '  ADOLOSCENCIE     *     *     *     P.  AN.  VII. " 

Selvatico  misses  this  side  altogether,  as  I  did  the  first,  so 
that  the  lost  planet  is  irrecoverable,  as  the  inscription  is  now 
defaced.  Note  the  o  for  e  in  adolescentia  :  so  also  we  con- 
stantly find  u  for  o  ;  showing,  together  with  much  other  in- 
contestable evidence  of  the  same  kind,  how  full  and  deep  the 
old  pronunciation  of  Latin  always  remained,  and  how  ridicu- 
lous our  English  mincing  of  the  vowels  would  have  sounded 
to  a  Roman  ear. 

Fourth  side.    A  youth  with  a  hawk  on  his  fist. 

"  IUVENTUTI  £>NT  SOL.  P.  AN.  XIX." 

The  sun  governs  youth  for  nineteen  years. 

Fifth  side.  A  man  sitting,  helmed,  with  a  sword  over  his 
shoulder.  Inscribed 

"  SENECTUTI  6NT  MARS.  P.  AN.  XV. " 
Mars  governs  manhood  for  fifteen  years. 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE. 


359 


Sixth  side.  A  very  graceful  and  serene  figure,  in  the  pen* 
dent  cap,  reading. 

"  SENICIE  DNT  JUPITER,  P.  ANN.  XII."  i 

Jupiter  governs  age  lor  twelve  years. 

Seventh  side.    An  old  man  in  a  skull-cap,  praying. 

"  decrepite  dnt  satn  UQS  admote."   (Saturnus  usque  ad  mortem^ 
Saturn  governs  decrepitude  until  death. 

Eighth  side.    The  dead  body  lying  on  a  mattress. 

' '  ULTIMA  EST  MOKS  PENA  PECCATL  " 

Last  conies  death,  the  penalty  of  sin. 

§  cxxii.  Shakspeare's  Seven  Ages  are  of  course  merely  the 
expression  of  this  early  and  well  known  system.  He  has  de- 
prived the  dotage  of  its  devotion  ;  but  I  think  wisely,  as  the 
Italian  system  would  imply  that  devotion  was,  or  should  be, 
always  delayed  until  dotage. 

Twenty-third  Capital.  I  agree  with  Selvatico  in  thinking 
this  has  been  restored.  It  is  decorated  with  large  and  vulgar 
heads. 

§  cxxm.  Twenty-fourth  Capital.  This  belongs  to  the  large 
shaft  which  sustains  the  great  party  wall  of  the  Sala  del  Gran 
Consiglio.  The  shaft  is  thicker  than  the  rest ;  but  the  cap- 
ital, though  ancient,  is  coarse  and  somewhat  inferior  in  design 
to  the  others  of  the  series.  It  represents  the  history  of  mar- 
riage :  the  lover  first  seeing  his  mistress  at  a  window,  then 
addressing  her,  bringing  her  presents  ;  then  the  bridal,  the 
birth  and  the  death  of  a  child.  But  I  have  not  been  able  to 
examine  these  sculptures  properly,  because  the  pillar  is  en- 
cumbered by  the  railing  which  surrounds  the  two  guns  set 
before  the  Austrian  guard-house. 

§  cxxiv.  Twenty-fifth  Capital.  We  have  here  the  employ- 
ments of  the  months,  with  which  we  are  already  tolerably 
acquainted.  There  are,  however,  one  or  two  varieties  worth 
noticing  in  this  series. 

First  side.  March.  Sitting  triumphantly  in  a  rich  dress, 
as  the  beginning  of  the  year. 


360 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


Second  side.  April  and  May.  April  with  a  lamb  :  M&j 
with  a  feather  fan  in  her  hand. 

Third  side.    June.    Carrying  cherries  in  a  basket. 

I  did  not  give  this  series  with  the  others  in  the  previous 
chapter,  because  this  representation  of  June  is  peculiarly 
Venetian.  It  is  called  "the  month  of  cherries,"  mese  delle 
ceriese,  in  the  popular  rhyme  on  the  conspiracy  of  Tiepolo, 
quoted  above,  Vol.  I. 

The  cherries  principally  grown  near  Venice  are  of  a  deep 
red  color,  and  large,  but  not  of  high  flavor,  though  refreshing. 
They  are  carved  upon  the  pillar  with  great  care,  all  their 
stalks  undercut. 

Fourth  side.  July  and  August.  The  •  first  reaping  ;  the 
leaves  of  the  straw  being  given,  shooting  out  from  the  tubular 
stalk.    August,  opposite,  beats  (the  grain  ?)  in  a  basket. 

Fifth  side.  September.  A  woman  standing  in  a  wine-tub, 
and  holding  a  branch  of  vine.    Very  beautiful. 

Sixth  side.  October  and  November.  I  could  not  make  out 
their  occupation  ;  they  seem  to  be  roasting  or  boiling  some 
root  over  a  fire. 

Seventh  side.    December.    Killing  pigs,  as  usual. 

Eighth  side.  January  warming  his  feet,  and  February 
frying  fish.  This  last  employment  is  again  as  characteristic 
of  the  Venetian  winter  as  the  cherries  are  of  the  Venetian 
summer. 

The  inscriptions  are  undecipherable,  except  a  few  letters 
here  and  there,  and  the  words  marcius,  aprilis,  and  febru- 
arius. 

This  is  the  last  of  the  capitals  of  the  early  palace  ;  the  next, 
or  twenty-sixth  capital,  is  the  first  of  those  executed  in  the 
fifteenth  century  under  Foscari ;  and  hence  to  the  Judgment 
angle  the  traveller  has  nothing  to  do  but  to  compare  the  base 
copies  of  the  earlier  work  with  their  originals,  or  to  observe 
the  total  want  of  invention  in  the  Eenaissance  sculptor, 
wherever  he  has  depended  on  his  own  resources.  This,  how- 
ever, always  with  the  exception  of  the  twenty-seventh  and  of 
the  last  capital,  which  are  both  fine. 

I  shall  merely  enumerate  the  subjects  and  point  out  the 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE. 


361 


plagiarisms  of  these  capitals,  as  they  are  not  worth  descrip* 
tion. 

§  cxxv.  Twenty-sixth  Capital.  Copied  from  the  fifteenth 
merely  changing  the  succession  of  the  figures. 

Twenty-seventh  Capital.  I  think  it  possible  that  this  may 
be  part  of  the  old  work  displaced  in  joining  the  new  palace 
with  the  old  ;  at  all  events,  it  is  well  designed,  though  a  little 
coarse.  It  represents  eight  different  kinds  of  fruit,  each  in  a 
basket ;  the  characters  well  given,  and  groups  well  arranged, 
but  without  much  care  01  finish.  The  names  are  inscribed 
above,  though  somewhat  unnecessarily,  and  with  certainly  as 
much  disrespect  to  the  beholder's  intelligence  as  the  sculp- 
tor's art,  namely,  zerexis,  piri,  chucumeris,  persici,  zuche, 
moloni,  fici,  huva.  Zerexis  (cherries)  and  Zuche  (gourds) 
both  begin  with  the  same  letter,  whether  meant  for  z,  s,  or  c 
I  am  not  sure.  The  Zuche  are  the  common  gourds,  divided 
into  two  protuberances,  one  larger  than  the  other,  like  a 
bottle  compressed  near  the  neck  ;  and  the  Moloni  are  the 
long  water-melons,  which,  roasted,  form  a  staple  food  of 
the  Venetians  to  this  day. 

§  cxxvi.  Twenty-eighth  Capital,    Copied  from  the  seventh. 

Twenty-ninth  Capital.    Copied  from  the  ninth. 

Thirtieth  Capital.  Copied  from  the  tenth.  The  "  Accidia 99 
is  noticeable  as  having  the  inscription  complete,  "  accidia  me 
stringit  ; "  and  the  s<  Luxuria  "  for  its  utter  want  of  expres- 
sion, having  a  severe  and  calm  face,  a  robe  up  to  the  neck, 
and  her  hand  upon  her  breast.  The  inscription  is  also  differ- 
ent :  "  luxuria  sum  stercs  (?)  inferi"  (?). 

Thirty-first  Capital.    Copied  from  the  eighth. 

Thirty-second  Capital.  Has  no  inscription,  only  fully 
robed  figures  laying  their  hands,  without  any  meaning,  on 
their  own  shoulders,  heads,  or  chins,  or  on  the  leaves  around 
them. 

Thirty-third  Capital.    Copied  from  the  twelfth. 

Thirty-fourth  Capital.    Copied  from  the  eleventh. 

Thirty-fifth  Capital.  Has  children,  with  birds  or  fruit, 
pretty  in  features,  and  utterly  inexpressive,  like  the  cherubs 
of  the  eighteenth  century. 


362 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


§  cxxvu.  Thirty-sixth  Capital.  This  is  the  last  of  ths 
Piazzetta  facade,  the  elaborate  one  under  the  Judgment  angle. 
Its  foliage  is  copied  from  the  eighteenth  at  the  opposite  side, 
with  an  endeavor  on  the  part  of  the  Renaissance  sculptor  to 
refine  upon  it,  by  which  he  has  merely  lost  some  of  its  truth 
and  force.  This  capital  will,  however,  be  always  thought,  at 
first,  the  most  beautiful  of  the  whole  series  :  and  indeed  it  is 
very  noble  ;  its  groups  of  figures  most  carefully  studied,  very 
graceful,  and  much  more  pleasing  than  those  of  the  earlier 
work,  though  with  less  real  power  in  them  ;  and  its  foliage  is 
only  inferior  to  that  of  the  magnificent  Fig-tree  angle.  It 
represents,  on  its  front  or  first  side,  Justice  enthroned,  seated 
on  two  lions  ;  and  on  the  seven  other  sides  examples  of  acts 
of  justice  or  good  government,  or  figures  of  lawgivers,  in  the 
following  order : 

Second  side.  Aristotle,  with  two  pupils,  giving  laws.  In- 
scribed : 

"ARISTOT  *  *  CHE  DIE  LEGE." 

Aristotle  who  declares  laws. 

Third  side.  I  have  mislaid  my  note  of  this  side  :  Selvatico 
and  Lazari  call  it  "  Isidore  "  (?).* 

Fourth  side.    Solon  with  his  pupils.    Inscribed  : 

"  SAL°  UNO  DEI  SETE  SAVI  DI  GRECIA.  CUE  DIE  LEGE." 

Solon,  one  of  the  seven  sages  of  Greece,  who  declares  laws. 

Note,  by  the  by,  the  pure  Venetian  dialect  used  in  this  capi- 
tal, instead  of  the  Latin  in  the  more  ancient  ones.  One  of  the 
seated  pupils  in  this  sculpture  is  remarkably  beautiful  in  the 
sweep  of  his  flowing  drapery. 

Fifth  side.    The  chastity  of  Scipio.    Inscribed  : 

u  ISIPIONE  A  CHASTITA  CH  *  *  *  E  LA  FIA  (e  la  %lia  ?)  *  *  ARE." 

A  soldier  in  a  plumed  bonnet  presents  a  kneeling  maiden  to 
the  seated  Scipio,  who  turns  thoughtfully  away. 
Sixth  side.    Numa  Pompilius  building  churches. 

"  NUMA  POMFILIO  IMPERADOR  EDIFICHADOR  DI  TEMPI  E  CHI.ESE." 

*  Can  they  have  mistaken  the  isipione  of  the  fifth  side  for  the  word 
Isidore  ? 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE. 


363 


Numa,  in  a  kind  of  bat  with  a  crown  above  it,  directing  a 
soldier  in  Koman  armor  (note  this,  as  contrasted  with  the 
mail  of  the  earlier  capitals).  They  point  to  a  tower  of  three 
stories  filled  with  tracery. 

Seventh  side.    Moses  receiving  the  law.    Inscribed  : 

"  QUANDO  MOSE  RECEVE  LA  LEGE  I  SUL  MONTE." 

Moses  kneels  on  a  rock,  whence  springs  a  beautifully  fancied 
tree,  with  clusters  of  three  berries  in  the  centre  of  three  leaves, 
sharp  and  quaint,  like  fine  Northern  Gothic.  The  half  figure 
of  the  Deity  comes  out  of  the  abacus,  the  arm  meeting  that  of 
Moses,  both  at  full  stretch,  with  the  stone  tablets  between. 
Eighth  side.    Trajan  doing  justice  to  the  Widow. 

'«  TItAJANO  IMPERADOR  CHE  FA  JUSTITIA  A  LA  VEDOVA." 

He  is  riding  spiritedly,  his  mantle  blown  out  behind  :  the 
widow  kneeling  before  his  horse. 

§  cxxviii.  The  reader  will  observe  that  this  capital  is  of 
peculiar  interest  in  its  relation  to  the  much  disputed  question 
of  the  character  of  the  later  government  of  Venice.  It  is  the 
assertion  by  that  government  of  its  belief  that  Justice  only 
could  be  the  foundation  of  its  stability  ;  as  these  stones  of 
Justice  and  Judgment  are  the  foundation  of  its  halls  of  council. 
And  this  profession  of  their  faith  may  be  interpreted  in  two 
ways.  Most  modern  historians  would  call  it,  in  common 
with  the  continual  reference  to  the  principles  of  justice  in  the 
political  and  judicial  language  of  the  period,*  nothing  more 
than  a  cloak  for  consummate  violence  and  guilt ;  and  it  may 
easily  be  proved  to  have  been  so  in  myriads  of  instances.  But 
in  the  main,  I  believe  the  expression  of  feeling  to  be  genuine, 
I  do  not  believe,  of  the  majority  of  the  leading  Venetians  of 
this  period  whose  portraits  have  come  down  to  us,  that  they 
were  deliberately  and  everlastingly  hypocrites.  I  see  no 
hypocrisy  in  their  countenances.  Much  capacity  cf  it,  much 
subtlety,  much  natural  and  acquired  reserve  ;  but  no  meanness, 

*  Compare  the  speech  of  the  Doge  Mocenigo,  above, — "  first  justice* 
and  then  the  interests  of  the  state  :  "  and  see  Vol.  III.  Chap.  II.  §  lix. 


364 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


On  the  contrary,  infinite  grandeur,  repose,  courage,  and  tha 
peculiar  unity  and  tranquillity  of  expression  which  come  ol 
sincerity  or  wholeness  of  heart,  and  which  it  would  take  much 
demonstration  to  make  me  believe  could  by  any  possibility  be 
seen  on  the  countenance  of  an  insincere,  man.  I  trust,  there- 
fore, that  these  Venetian  nobles  of  the  fifteenth  century  did,  in 
the  main,  desire  to  do  judgment  and  justice  to  all  men  ;  but, 
as  the  whole  system  of  morality  had  been  by  this  time  under- 
mined by  the  teaching  of  the  Eomish  Church,  the  idea  of 
justice  had  become  separated  from  that  of  truth,  so  that  dis- 
simulation in  the  interest  of  the  state  assumed  the  aspect  of 
duty.  We  had,  perhaps,  better  consider,  with  some  careful- 
ness, the  mode  in  which  our  own  government  is  carried  on, 
and  the  occasional  difference  between  parliamentary  and  pri- 
vate morality,  before  we  judge  mercilessly  of  the  Venetians 
in  this  respect.  The  secrecy  with  which  their  political  and 
criminal  trials  were  conducted,  appears  to  modern  eyes  like  a 
confession  of  sinister  intentions  ;  but  may  it  not  also  be  con- 
sidered, and  with  more  probability,  as  the  result  of  an  en- 
deavor to  do  justice  in  an  age  of  violence  ? — the  only  means  by 
which  Law  could  establish  its  footing  in  the  midst  of  feudalism. 
Might  not  Irish  juries  at  this  day  justifiably  desire  to  conduct 
their  proceedings  with  some  greater  approximation  to  the 
judicial  principles  of  the  Council  of  Ten?  Finally,  if  we 
examine,  with  critical  accuracy,  the  evidence  on  which  our 
present  impressions  of  Venetian  government  are  founded,  we 
shall  discover,  in  the  first  place,  that  two-thirds  of  the  tradi- 
tions of  its  cruelties  are  romantic  fables :  in  the  second,  that 
the  crimes  of  which  it  can  be  proved  to  have  been  guilty, 
differ  only  from  those  committed  by  the  other  Italian  powers 
in  being  done  less  wantonly,  and  under  profounder  conviction 
of  their  political  expediency :  and  lastly,  that  the  final  degra- 
dation of  the  Venetian  power  appears  owing  not  so  much  to 
the  principles  of  its  government,  as  to  their  being  forgotten  in 
the  pursuit  of  pleasure. 

§  cxxix.  We  have  now  examined  the  portions  of  the  palace 
which  contain  the  principal  evidence  of  the  feeling  of  its 
builders.    The  capitals  of  the  upper  arcade  are  exceedingly 


TEE  DUCAL  PALACE. 


365 


various  in  their  character  ;  their  design  is  formed,  as  in  the 
lower  series,  of  eight  leaves,  thrown  into  volutes  at  the  an- 
gles, and  sustaining  figures  at  the  flanks  ;  but  these  figures 
have  no  inscriptions,  and  though  evidently  not  without  mean- 
ing, cannot  be  interpreted  without  more  knowledge  than  I 
possess  of  ancient  symbolism.  Many  of  the  capitals  toward 
the  Sea  appear  to  have  been  restored,  and  to  be  rude  copies 
of  the  ancient  ones  ;  others,  though  apparently  original,  have 
been  somewhat  carelessly  wrought ;  but  those  of  them,  which 
are  both  genuine  and  carefully  treated,  are  even  finer  in  com- 
position than  any,  except  the  eighteenth,  in  the  lower  arcade. 
The  traveller  in  Venice  ought  to  ascend  into  the  corridor, 
and  examine  with  great  care  the  series  of  capitals  which 
extend  on  the  Piazzetta  side  from  the  Fig-tree  angle  to  the 
pilaster  which  carries  the  party  wall  of  the  Sala  del  Gran 
Consiglio.  As  examples  of  graceful  composition  in  massy 
capitals  meant  for  hard  service  and  distant  effect,  these  are 
among  the  finest  things  I  know  in  Gothic  art ;  and  that  above 
the  fig-tree  is  remarkable  for  its  sculptures  of  the  four  winds  ; 
each  on  the  side  turned  towards  the  wind  represented.  Le- 
vante,  the  east  wind  ;  a  figure  with  rays  round  its  head,  to 
show  that  it  is  always  clear  weather  when  that  wind  blows, 
raising  the  sun  out  of  the  sea  :  Hotro,  the  south  wind  ; 
crowned,  holding  the  sun  in  its  right  hand  :  Ponente,  the 
west  wind  ;  plunging  the  sun  into  the  sea  :  and  Tramontana, 
the  north  wind  ;  looking  up  at  the  north  star.  This  capital 
should  be  carefully  examined,  if  for  no  other  reason  than  to 
attach  greater  distinctness  of  idea  to  the  magnificent  verbiage 
of  Milton : 

"  Thwart  of  these,  as  fierce, 
Forth  rush  the  Levant  and  the  Ponent  winds, 
Eurus,  and  Zephyr  ;  with  their  lateral  noise, 
Sirocco  and  Libecchio." 

I  may  also  especially  point  out  the  bird  feeding  its  three 
young  ones  on  the  seventh  pillar  on  the  Piazzetta  side ;  but 
there  is  no  end  to  the  fantasy  of  these  sculptures  ;  and  the 
traveller  ought  to  observe  them  all  carefully,  until  he  comes 
to  the  great  Pilaster  or  complicated  pier  which  sustains  the 


366 


TEE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


party  wall  of  the  Sala  del  Consiglio  ;  that  is  to  say,  the  forty- 
seventh  capital  of  the  whole  series,  counting  from  the  pilaster 
of  the  Vine  angle  inclusive,  as  in  the  series  of  tlie  lower  ar- 
cade. The  forty-eighth,  forty-ninth,  and  fiftieth  are  bad 
work,  but  they  are  old  ;  the  fifty-first  is  the  first  Renaissance 
capital  of  the  upper  arcade  :  the  first  new  lion's  head  with 
smooth  ears,  cut  in  the  time  of  Foscari,  is  over  the  fiftieth 
capital ;  and  that  capital,  with  its  shaft,  stands  on  the  apex 
of  the  eighth  arch  from  the  Sea,  on  the  Piazzetta  side,  of 
which  one  spandril  is  masonry  of  the  fourteenth  and  the  other 
of  the  fifteenth  century. 

§  cxxx.  The  reader  who  is  not  able  to  examine  the  build- 
ing on  the  spot  may  be  surprised  at  the  definiteness  with 
which  the  point  of  junction  is  ascertainable  ;  but  a  glance  at 
the  lowest  range  of  leaves  in  the  opposite  Plate  (XX.)  will 
enable  him  to  judge  of  the  grounds  on  which  the  above  state- 
ment is  made.  Fig.  12  is  a  cluster  of  leaves  from  the  capital 
of  the  Four  Winds  ;  early  work  of  the  finest  time.  Fig.  13 
is  a  leaf  from  the  great  Kenaissance  capital  at  the  Judgment 
angle,  worked  in  imitation  of  the  older  leafage.  Fig.  14  is  a 
leaf  from  one  of  the  Renaissance  capitals  of  the  upper  arcade, 
which  are  all  wrorked  in  the  natural  manner  of  the  period. 
It  will  be  seen  that  it  requires  no  great  ingenuity  to  distin- 
guish between  such  design  as  that  of  fig.  12  and  that  of  fig. 
14. 

§  cxxxi.  It  is  very  possible  that  the  reader  may  at  first  lika 
fig.  14  the  best,  I  shall  endeavor,  in  the  next  chapter,  to 
show  why  he  should  not ;  but  it  must  also  be  noted,  that  fig. 
12  has  lost,  and  fig.  14  gained,  both  largely,  under  the  hands 
of  the  engraver.  All  the  bluntness  and  coarseness  of  feeling 
in  the  workmanship  of  fig.  14  have  disappeared  on  this  small 
scale,  and  ail  the  subtle  refinements  in  the  broad  masses  of 
fig.  12  have  vanished.  They  could  not,  indeed,  be  rendered 
in  line  engraving,  unless  by  the  hand  of  Albert  Durer  ;  and  I 
have,  therefore,  abandoned,  for  the  present,  all  endeavor  to 
represent  any  more  important  mass  of  the  early  sculpture  of 
the  Ducal  Palace  :  but  I  trust  that,  in  a  few  months,  casts  of 
many  portions  will  be  within  the  reach  of  the  inhabitants  of 


Plate  XX. — Leafage  op  the  Venetian  Capitals. 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE. 


307 


London,  and  that  they  will  be  able  to  judge  for  themselves  of 
their  perfect,  pure,  unlabored  naturalism  ;  the  freshness,  elas- 
ticity, and  softness  of  their  leafage,  united  with  the  most 
noble  symmetry  and  severe  reserve, — no  running  to  waste,  no 
loose  or  experimental  lines,  no  extravagance,  and  no  weakness. 
Their  design  is  always  sternly  architectural ;  there  is  none  of 
the  wildness  or  redundance  of  natural  vegetation,  but  there  is 
all  the  strength,  freedom,  and  tossing  flow  of  the  breathing 
leaves,  and  all  the  undulation  of  their  surfaces,  rippled,  as 
they  grew,  by  the  summer  winds,  as  the  sands  are  by  the  sea. 

§  cxxxn.  This  early  sculpture  of  the  Ducal  Palace,  then, 
represents  the  state  of  Gothic  work  in  Venice  at  its  central 
and  proudest  period,  i.  e.  circa  1350.  After  this  time,  all  is 
decline, — of  what  nature  and  by  what  steps,  we  shall  inquire 
in  the  ensuing  chapter ;  for  as  this  investigation,  though  still 
referring  to  Gothic  architecture,  introduces  us  to  the  first 
symptoms  of  the  Renaissance  influence,  I  have  considered  it 
as  properly  belonging  to  the  third  division  of  our  subject. 

§  cxxxm.  And  as,  under  the  shadow  of  these  nodding 
leaves,  we  bid  farewell  to  the  great  Gothic  spirit,  here  also  we 
may  cease  our  examination  of  the  details  of  the  Ducal  Palace  ; 
for  above  its  upper  arcade  there  are  only  the  four  traceried 
windows,*  and  one  or  two  of  the  third  order  on  the  Rio 
Facade,  which  can  be  depended  upon  as  exhibiting  the  origi- 
nal workmanship  of  the  older  palace.  I  examined  the  capitals 
of  the  four  other  windows  on  the  facade,  and  of  those  on  the 
Piazzetta,  one  by  one,  with  great  care,  and  I  found  them  all 
to  be  of  far  inferior  workmanship  to  those  which  retain  their 
traceries :  I  believe  the  stone  framework  of  these  windows 
must  have  been  so  cracked  and  injured  by  the  flames  of  the 
great  fire,  as  to  render  it  necessary  to  replace  it  by  new 
traceries  ;  and  that  the  present  mouldings  and  capitals  are 
base  imitations  of  the  original  ones.  The  traceries  were  at 
first,  however,  restored  in  their  complete  form,  as  the  holes 

*  Some  further  details  respecting  these  portions,  as  well  as  some  ne- 
cessary confirmations  of  my  statements  of  dates,  are,  however,  given  in 
Appendix  1,  Vol.  III.  I  feared  wearying  the  general  reader  by  intro- 
ducing them  into  the  text, 


368 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


for  the  bolts  which  fastened  the  bases  of  their  shafts  are  still 
to  be  seen  in  the  window-sills,  as  well  as  the  marks  of  the 
inner  mouldings  on  the  soffits.  How  much  the  stone  facing 
of  the  facade,  the  parapets,  and  the  shafts  and  niches  of  the 
angles,  retain  of  their  original  masonry,  it  is  also  impossible 
to  determine ;  but  there  is  nothing  in  the  workmanship  of  any 
of  them  demanding  especial  notice  ;  still  less  in  the  large 
central  windows  on  each  facade,  which  are  entirely  of  Eenais- 
sance  execution.  All  that  is  admirable  in  these  portions  of 
the  building  is  the  disposition  of  their  various  parts  and 
masses,  which  is  without  doubt  the  same  as  in  the  original 
fabric,  and  calculated,  when  seen  from  a  distance,  to  produce 
the  same  impression. 

§  cxxxiv.  Not  so  in  the  interior.  All  vestige  of  the  earlier 
modes  of  decoration  was  here,  of  course,  destroyed  by  the 
fires  ;  and  the  severe  and  religious  work  of  Guariento  and 
Bellini  has  been  replaced  by  the  wildness  of  Tintoret  and  the 
luxury  of  Veronese.  But  in  this  case,  though  widely  different 
in  temper,  the  art  of  the  renewal  was  at  least  intellectually  as 
great  as  that  which  had  perished  :  and  though  the  halls  of  the 
Ducal  Palace  are  no  more  representative  of  the  character  of 
the  men  by  whom  it  was  built,  each  of  them  is  still  a  colossal 
casket  of  priceless  treasure  ;  a  treasure  whose  safety  has  till 
now  depended  on  its  being  despised,  and  which  at  this  mo- 
ment, and  as  I  write,  is  piece  by  piece  being  destroyed  for 
ever. 

§  cxxxv.  The  reader  will  forgive  my  quitting  our  more  im- 
mediate subject,  in  order  briefly  to  explain  the  causes  and 
the  nature  of  this  destruction ;  for  the  matter  is  simply  the 
most  important  of  all  that  can  be  brought  under  our  present 
consideration  respecting  the  state  of  art  in  Europe. 

The  fact  is,  that  the  greater  number  of  persons  or  societies 
throughout  Europe,  whom  Avealth,  or  chance,  or  inheritance 
has  put  in  possession  of  valuable  pictures,  do  not  know  a 
good  picture  from  a  bad  one,*  and  have  no  idea  in  what  the 

*  Many  persons,  capable  of  quickly  sympathizing  with  any  excellence, 
when  once  pointed  out  to  them,  easily  deceive  themselves  into  the  sup- 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE. 


369 


value  of  a  picture  really  consists.  The  reputation  of  certain 
works  is  raised,  partly  by  accident,  partly  by  the  just  testi- 
mony  of  artists,  partly  by  the  various  and  generally  bad  taste 
of  the  public  (no  picture,  that  I  know  of,  has  ever,  in  modern 
times,  attained  popularity,  in  the  full  sense  of  the  term,  with- 
out having  some  exceedingly  bad  qualities  mingled  with  its 
good  ones),  and  when  this  reputation  has  once  been  com- 
pletely established,  it  little  matters  to  what  state  the  picture 
may  be  reduced  :  few  minds  are  so  completely  devoid  of  im- 
agination as  to  be  unable  to  invest  it  with  the  beauties  which 
they  have  heard  attributed  to  it. 

§  cxxxvi.  This  being  so,  the  pictures  that  are  most  valued 
are  for  the  most  part  those  by  masters  of  established  renown, 
which  are  highly  or  neatly  finished,  and  of  a  size  small  enough 
to  admit  of  their  being  placed  in  galleries  or  saloons,  so  as  to 
be  made  subjects  of  ostentation,  and  to  be  easily  seen  by  a 
crowd.  For  the  support  of  the  fame  and  value  of  such  pict- 
ures, little  more  is  necessary  than  that  they  should  be  kept 
bright,  partly  by  cleaning,  which  is  incipient  destruction,  and 
partly  by  what  is  called  "restoring,"  that  is,  painting  over, 
wThich  is  of  course  total  destruction.  Nearly  all  the  gallery 
pictures  in  modern  Europe  have  been  more  or  less  destroyed 
by  one  or  other  of  these  operations,  generally  exactly  in  pro- 
portion to  the  estimation  in  which  they  are  held  ;  and  as, 
originalry,  the  smaller  and  more  highly  finished  works  of  any 
great  master  are  usually  his  worst,  the  contents  of  many  of 
our  most  celebrated  galleries  are  by  this  time,  in  reality,  of 
very  small  value  indeed. 

§  cxxxvii.  On  the  other  hand,  the  most  precious  works  of 
any  noble  painter  are  usually  those  which  have  been  done 
quickly,  and  in  the  heat  of  the  first  thought,  on  a  large  scale, 
for  places  where  there  was  little  likelihood  of  their  being  well 
seen,  or  for  patrons  from  whom  there  was  little  prospect  of 
rich  remuneration.    In  general,  the  best  things  are  done  in 

position  that  they  are  judges  of  art.  There  is  only  one  real  test  of  such 
power  of  judgment.  Can  they,  at  a  glance,  discover  a  good  picture 
obscured  by  the  filth,  and  confused  among  the  rubbish,  of  the  pawn- 
broker's or  dealer's  garret  V 

Vol.  IL—  24  ^ 


370 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


this  way,  or  else  in  the  enthusiasm  and  pride  of  accomplishing 
some  great  purpose,  such  as  painting  a  cathedral  or  a  campo- 
santo  from  one  end  to  the  other,  especially  when  the  time  has 
been  short,  and  circumstances  disadvantageous. 

§  cxxxvni.  Works  thus  executed  are  of  course  despised,  on 
account  of  their  quantity,  as  well  as  their  frequent  slightness, 
in  the  places  where  they  exist ;  and  they  are  too  large  to 
be  portable,  and  too  vast  and  comprehensive  to  be  read  on 
the  spot,  in  the  hasty  temper  of  the  present  age.  They  are, 
therefore,  almost  universally  neglected,  whitewashed  by  cus- 
todes,  shot  at  by  soldiers,  suffered  to  drop  from  the  wails 
piecemeal  in  powder  and  rags  by  society  in  general ;  but, 
which  is  an  advantage  more  than  counterbalancing  all  this 
evil,  they  are  not  often  ' 'restored."  What  is  left  of  them, 
however  fragmentary,  however  ruinous,  however  obscured  and 
defiled,  is  almost  always  the  real  thing  ;  there  are  no  fresh 
readings  :  and  therefore  the  greatest  treasures  of  art  which 
Europe  at  this  moment  possesses  are  pieces  of  old  plaster  on 
ruinous  brick  walls,  where  the  lizards  burrow  and  bask,  and 
which  few  other  living  creatures  ever  approach  ;  and  torn 
sheets  of  dim  canvas,  in  waste  corners  of  churches  ;  and 
mildewed  stains,  in  the  shape  of  human  figures,  on  the  walls 
of  dark  chambers,  which  now  and  then  an  exploring  traveller 
causes  to  be  unlocked  by  their  tottering  oust  ode,  looks  hastily 
round,  and  retreats  from  in  a  weary  satisfaction  at  his  accom- 
plished duty. 

§  cxxxix.  Many  of  the  pictures  on  the  ceilings  and  walls 
of  the  Ducal  Palace,  by  Paul  Veronese  and  Tintoret,  have 
been  more  or  less  reduced,  by  neglect,  to  this  condition. 
Unfortunately  they  are  not  altogether  without  reputation,  and 
their  state  has  drawn  the  attention  of  the  Venetian  authorities 
and  academicians.  It  constantly  happens,  that  public  bodies 
who  will  not  pay  five  pounds  to  preserve  a  picture,  will  pay 
fifty  to  repaint  it:*  and  when  I  was  at  Venice  in  1846,  there 

*  This  is  easily  explained.  There  are,  of  course,  in  every  place  and  at 
all  periods,  bad  painters  who  conscientiously  believe  that  they  can  im- 
prove every  picture  they  touch  ;  and  these  men  are  generally,  in  their 
presumption,  the  most  influential  over  the  innocence,  whether  of  moor 


THE  D II GAL  PALACE. 


371 


were  two  remedial  operations  carrying  on,  at  one  and  the 
same  time,  in  the  two  buildings  which  contain  the  pictures  of 
greatest  value  in  the  city  (as  pieces  of  color,  of  greatest  value 
in  the  world),  curiously  illustrative  of  this  peculiarity  in  hu- 
man nature.  Buckets  were  set  on  the  floor  of  the  Seuola. 
di  San  Kocco,  in  every  shower,  to  catch  the  rain  which  came 
through  the  pictures  of  Tin  tore  t  on  the  ceiling ;  while  in  the 
Ducal  Palace,  those  of  Paul  Veronese  were  themselves  laid 
on  the  floor  to  be  repainted  ;  and  I  was  myself  present  at  the 
re-illumination  of  the  breast  of  a  white  horse,  with  a  brush,  ar. 
the  end  of  a  stick  five  feet  long,  luxuriously  dipped  in  a  com- 
mon house-painter's  vessel  of  paint. 

This  was,  of  course,  a  large  picture.  The  process  has 
already  been  continued  in  an  equally  destructive,  though 
somewhat  more  delicate  manner,  over  the  whole  of  the  hum- 
bler canvases  on  the  ceiling  of  the  Sala  del  Gran  Consigiio  ; 
and  I  heard  it  threatened  when  I  was  last  in  Venice  (1851-2) 
to  the  "  Paradise  "  at  its  extremity,  which  is  yet  in  tolerable 
condition, — the  largest  work  of  Tintoret,  and  the  most  won- 
derful piece  of  pure,  manly,  and  masterly  oil-painting  in  the 
world. 

§  cxl.  I  leave  these  facts  to  the  consideration  of  the  Eu- 
ropean patrons  of  art.  Twenty  years  hence  they  will  be 
acknowledged  and  regretted  ;  at  present,  I  am  well  aware, 
that  it  is  of  little  use  to  bring  them  forward,  except  only  to 
explain  the  present  impossibility  of  stating  what  pictures  are, 
and  what  were,  in  the  interior  of  the  Ducal  Palace.  I  can 
only  say,  that  in  the  winter  of  1851,  the  "  Paradise  "  of  Tin- 
toret was  still  comparatively  uninjured,  and  that  the  Camera 
di  Cohegio,  and  its  antechamber,  and  the  Sala  de'  Pregadi 
were  full  of  pictures  by  Veronese  and  Tintoret,  that  made 
their  walls  as  precious  as  so  many  kingdoms  ;  so  precious 
indeed,  and  so  full  of  majesty,  that  sometimes  when  walking 
at  evening  on  the  Lido,  whence  the  great  chain  of  the  Alps, 
crested  with  silver  clouds,  might  be  seen  rising  above  the 

archs  or  municipalities.  The  carpenter  and  slater  have  little  influence 
in  recommending  the  repairs  of  the  roof  ;  but  the  had  painter  has  great 
influence,  as  well  as  interest,  in  recommending  those  of  the  picture. 


372 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


front  of  the  Ducal  Palace,  I  used  to  feel  as  much  awe  in 
gazing  on  the  building  as  on  the  hills,  and  could  believe  that 
God  had  done  a  greater  work  in  breathing  into  the  narrow- 
ness of  dust  the  mighty  spirits  by  whom  its  haughty  walls 
had  been  raised,  and  its  burning  legends  written,  than  in 
lifting  the  rocks  of  granite  higher  than  the  clouds  of  heaven, 
and  veiling  them  with  their  various  mantle  of  purple  flower 
and  shadowy  pine. 


APPENDIX 


L   THE  GONDOLIER'S  CRY. 

Most  persons  are  now  well  acquainted  with  the  general  as- 
pect of  the  Venetian  gondola,  but  few  have  taken  the  pains  to 
understand  the  cries  of  warning  uttered  by  its  boatmen,  al- 
though those  cries  are  peculiarly  characteristic,  and  very  im- 
pressive to  a  stranger,  and  have  been  even  very  sweetly  intro- 
duced in  poetry  by  Mr.  Monckton  Mimes.  It  may  perhaps 
be  interesting  to  the  traveller  in  Venice  to  know  the  general 
method  of  management  of  the  boat  to  which  he  owes  so  many 
happy  hours. 

A  gondola  is  in  general  rowed  only  by  one  man,  standing  at 
the  stern  ;  those  of  the  upper  classes  having  two  or  more 
boatmen,  for  greater  speed  and  magnificence.  In  order  to 
raise  the  oar  sufficiently,  it  rests,  not  on  the  side  of  the  boat, 
but  on  a  piece  of  crooked  timber  like  the  branch  of  a  tree,  ris- 
ing about  a  foot  from  the  boat's  side,  and  called  a  "  f orcola." 
The  forcola  is  of  different  forms,  according  to  the  size  and 
uses  of  the  boat,  and  it  is  always  somewhat  complicated  in  its 
parts  and  curvature,  allowing  the  oar  various  kinds  of  rests 
and  catches  on  both  its  sides,  but  perfectly  free  play  in  all 
cases ;  as  the  management  of  the  boat  depends  on  the  gondo- 
lier's being  able  in  an  instant  to  place  his  oar  in  any  position. 
The  forcola  is  set  on  the  right-hand  side  of  the  boat,  some  six 
feet  from  the  stern  :  the  gondolier  stands  on  a  little  flat  plat- 
form or  deck  behind  it,  and  throws  nearly  the  entire  weight 
of  his  body  upon  the  forward  stroke.  The  effect  of  this  stroke 
would  be  naturally  to  turn  the  boat's  head  round  to  the  left 
as  well  as  to  send  it  forward  ;  but  this  tendency  is  corrected 
by  keeping  the  blade  of  the  oar  under  the  water  on  the  return 


374 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


stroke,  and  raising  it  gradually,  as  a  full  spoon  is  raised  out 
of  any  liquid,  so  that  the  blade  emerges  from  the  water  only 
an  instant  before  it  again  plunges,  A  downward  and  lateral 
pressure  upon  the  forcola  is  thus  obtained,  which  entirely 
counteracts  the  tendency  given  by  the  forward  stroke  ;  and 
the  effort,  after  a  little  practice,  becomes  hardly  conscious, 
though,  as  it  adds  some  labor  to  the  back  stroke,  rowing  a 
gondola  at  speed  is  hard  and  breathless  work,  though  it  ap- 
pears easy  and  graceful  to  the  looker-on. 

If  then  the  gondola  is  to  be  turned  to  the  left,  the  forward 
impulse  is  given  without  the  return  stroke ;  if  it  is  to  be  turned 
to  the  right,  the  plunged  oar  is  brought  forcibly  up  to  the 
surface  ;  in  either  case  a  single  strong  stroke  being  enough  to 
turn  the  light  and  flat-bottomed  boat.  But  as  it  has  no  keel, 
when  the  turn  is  made  sharply,  as  out  of  one  canal  into  an- 
other very  narrow  one,  the  impetus  of  the  boat  in  its  former 
direction  gives  it  an  enormous  lee-way,  and  it  drifts  laterally 
up  against  the  wall  of  the  canal,  and  that  so  forcibly,  that  if 
it  has  turned  at  speed,  no  gondolier  can  arrest  the  motion 
merely  by  strength  or  rapidity  of  stroke  of  oar ;  but  it  is 
checked  by  a  strong  thrust  of  the  foot  against  the  wail  itself, 
the  head  of  the  boat  being  of  course  turned  for  the  moment 
almost  completely  round  to  the  opposite  wall,  and  greater  ex- 
ertion made  to  give  it,  as  quickly  as  possible,  impulse  in  the 
new  direction. 

The  boat  being  thus  guided,  the  cry  "  Premi "  is  the  order 
from  one  gondolier  to  another  that  he  should  " press"  or 
thrust  forward  his  oar,  without  the  back  stroke,  so  as  to  send 
the  boat's  head  round  to  the  left  ;  and  the  cry  "  Stali "  is  the 
order  that  he  should  give  the  return  or  upward  stroke  which 
sends  the  boat's  head  round  to  the  right.  Hence,  if  two  gon- 
doliers meet  under  any  circumstances  which  render  it  a  mat- 
ter of  question  on  which  side  they  should  pass  each  other,  the 
gondolier  who  has  at  the  moment  the  least  power  over  his 
boat,  cries  to  the  other,  "Premi/'  if  he  wishes  the  boats  to 
pass  with  their  right-hand  sides  to  each  other,  and  "Stali,"  if 
with  their  left.  Now,  in  turning  a  corner,  there  is  of  course 
risk  of  collision  between  boats  coming  from  opposite  sides, 


APPENDIX* 


375 


and  warning  is  always  clearly  and  loudly  given  on  approach- 
ing an  angle  of  the  canals.  It  is  of  course  presumed  that  the 
boat  which  gives  the  warning  will  be  nearer  the  turn  than  the 
one  which  receives  and  answers  it ;  and  therefore  will  not 
have  so  much  time  to  check  itself  or  alter  its  course.  Hence 
the  advantage  of  the  turn,  that  is,  the  outside,  which  allows 
the  fullest  swing  and  greatest  room  for  lee-way,  is  alwa}^s 
yielded  to  the  boat  which  gives  warning.  Therefore,  if  the 
warning  boat  is  going  to  turn  to  tha  right,  as  it  is  to  have  the 
outside  position,  it  will  keep  its  own  right-hand  side  to  the 
boat  which  it  meets,  and  the  cry  of  warning  is  therefore 
"Premi,"  twice  given  ;  first  as  soon  as  it  can  be  heard  round 
the  angle,  prolonged  and  loud,  with  the  accent  on  the  e,  and 
another  strongly  accented  e  added,  a  kind  of  question,  "Pre- 
mi-e,"  followed  at  the  instant  of  turning,  with  "Ah  Premi," 
wTith  the  accent  sharp  on  the  final  i.  If,  on  the  other  hand, 
the  warning  boat  is  going  to  turn  to  the  left,  it  will  pass  with 
its  left-hand  side  to  the  one  it  meets  ;  and  the  warning  cry  is, 
"  Stali-e,  Ah  Stall."  Hence  the  confused  idea  in  the  mind  of 
the  traveller  that  Stali  means  "  to  the  left,"  and  "  Premi "  to 
the  right ;  wThile  they  mean,  in  reality,  the  direct  reverse  ;  the 
Stali,  for  instance,  being  the  order  to  the  unseen  gondolier 
who  may  be  behind  the  corner,  coming  from  the  left-hand 
side,  that  he  should  hold  as  much  as  possible  to  his  own  right  ; 
this  being  the  only  safe  order  for  him,  whether  he  is  going  to 
turn  the  corner  himself,  or  to  go  straight  on  ;  for  as  the  warn- 
ing gondola  will  always  swing  right  across  the  canal  in  turn- 
ing, a- collision  with  it  is  only  to  be  avoided  by  keeping  well 
within  it,  and  close  up  to  the  corner  which  it  turn?. 

There  are  several  other  cries  necessary  in  the  management 
of  the  gondola,  but  less  frequently,  so  that  the  reader  will 
hardly  care  for  their  interpretation  ;  except  only  the  "  sciar," 
which  is  the  order  to  the  opposite  gondolier  to  stop  the  boat 
as  suddenly  as  possible  by  slipping  his  oar  in  front  of  the  for- 
cola.  The  cry  is  never  heard  except  when  the  boatmen  have 
got  into  some  unexpected  position,  involving  a  risk  of  col- 
lision ;  but  the  action  is  seen  constantly,  when  the  gondola  is 
rowed  by  two  or  more  men  (for  if  performed  by  the  single 


376 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


gondolier  it  only  swings  the  boat's  head  sharp  round  to  tha 
right),  in  bringing  up  at  a  landing-place,  especially  when 
there  is  any  intent  of  display,  the  boat  being  first  urged  to  its 
full  speed  and  then  stopped  with  as  much  foam  about  the  oar- 
blades  as  possible,  the  effect  being  much  like  that  of  stopping 
a  horse  at  speed  by  pulling  him  on  his  haunches. 

2.   OUR  LADY  OF  SALVATION. 

"  Santa  Maria  della  Salute,"  Our  Lady  of  Health,  or  of 
Safety,  would  be  a  more  literal  translation,  yet  not  perhaps 
fully  expressing  the  force  of  the  Italian  word  in  this  case. 
The  church  was  built  between  1630  and  1680,  in  acknowledg- 
ment of  the  cessation  of  the  plague  ; — of  course  to  the  Virgin, 
to  wrhom  the  modern  Italian  has  recourse  in  all  his  principal 
distresses,  and  who  receives  his  gratitude  for  all  principal  de- 
liverances. 

The  hasty  traveller  is  usually  enthusiastic  in  his  admiration 
of  this  building  ;  but  there  is  a  notable  lesson  to  be  derived 
from  it,  which  is  not  often  read.  On  the  opposite  side  of  the 
broad  canal  of  the  Giudecca  is  a  small  church,  celebrated 
among  Eenaissance  architects  as  of  Palladian  design,  but 
which  would  hardly  attract  the  notice  of  the  general  observer, 
unless  on  account  of  the  pictures  by  John  Bellini  which  it  con- 
tains, in  order  to  see  which  the  traveller  may  perhaps  remem- 
ber having  been  taken  across  the  Giudecca  to  the  Church  of 
the  "  Redentore."  But  he  ought  carefully  to  compare  these 
two  buildings  with  each  other,  the  one  built  "  to  the  Virgin," 
the  other  "  to  the  Redeemer  "  (also  a  votive  offering  after  the 
cessation  of  the  plague  of  1576) ;  the  one,  the  most  conspicu- 
ous church  in  Venice,  its  dome,  the  principal  one  by  which 
she  is  first  discerned,  rising  out  of  the  distant  sea  :  the  other, 
small  and  contemptible,  on  a  suburban  island,  and  only  be- 
coming an  object  of  interest  because  it  contains  three  small 
pictures  !  For  in  the  relative  magnitude  and  conspicuous- 
ness  of  these  two  buildings,  we  have  an  accurate  index  of  the 
relative  importance  of  the  ideas  of  the  Madonna  and  of  Christ, 
in  the  modern  Italian  mind. 


APPENDIX. 


377 


Some  further  account  of  this  church  is  given  in  the  final 
Index  to  the  Venetian  buildings  at  the  close  of  the  third 
Volume. 

3.  TIDES  OF  VENICE,  AND  MEASURES  AT  TORCELLO. 

The  lowest  and  highest  tides  take  place  in  Venice  at  differ- 
ent periods,  the  lowest  during  the  winter,  the  highest  in  the 
summer  and  autumn.  During  the  period  of  the  highest  tides, 
the  city  is  exceedingly  beautiful,  especially  if,  as  is  not  unfre- 
quently  the  case,  the  water  rises  high  enough  partially  to 
flood  St.  Mark's  Place.  Nothing  can  be  more  lovely  or  fan- 
tastic than  the  scene,  when  the  Campanile  and  the  Golden 
Church  are  reflected  in  the  calm  water,  and  the  lighter  gon- 
dolas floating  under  the  very  porches  of  the  facade.  On  the 
other  hand,  a  winter  residence  in  Venice  is  rendered  peculiarly 
disagreeable  by  the  low  tides,  which  sometimes  leave  the 
smaller  canals  entirely  dry,  and  large  banks  of  mud  beneath 
the  houses,  along  the  borders  of  even  the  Grand  Canal.  The 
difference  between  the  levels  of  the  highest  and  lowest  tides  I 
saw  in  Venice  was  6  ft.  3  in.  The  average  fall  rise  is  from 
two  to  three  feet. 


The  measures  of  Torcello  were  intended  for  Appendix  4  ; 
but  having  by  a  misprint  referred  the  reader  to  Appendix  3, 1 
give  them  here.  The  entire  breadth  of  the  church  within  the 
walls  is  70  feet ;  of  which  the  square  bases  of  the  pillars,  3  feet 
on  each  side,  occupy  6  feet  ;  and  the  nave,  from  base  to  base, 
measures  31  ft.  1  in.  ;  the  aisles  from  base  to  wall,  16  feet  odd 
inches,  not  accurately  ascertainable  on  account  of  the  modern 
wainscot  fittings.  The  intervals  between  the  bases  of  the  pil- 
lars are  8  feet  each,  increasing  toward  the  altar  to  8  ft.  3  in.,  in 
order  to  allow  for  a  corresponding  diminution  in  the  diameter 
of  the  bases  from  3  ft,  to  2  ft.  11  in.  or  2  ft.  10.  in.  This 
subtle  diminution  of  the  bases  is  in  order  to  prevent  the  eye 
from  feeling  the  greater  narrowness  of  the  shafts  in  that  part 
of  the  nave,  their  average  circumference  being  6  ft.  10  in,  ; 


873 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


a»d  one,  the  second  on  the  north  side,  reaching  7  feet,  while 
those  at  the  upper  end  of  the  nave  vary  from  6  ft,  8  in.  to  6  ft. 
4  in.  It  is  probable  that  this  diminution  in  the  more  distant 
pillars  adds  slightly  to  the  perspective  effect  of  length  in  the 
body  of  the  church,  as  it  is  seen  from  the  great  entrance  :  but 
whether  this  was  the  intention  or  not,  the  delicate  adaptation  of 
this  diminished  base  to  the  diminished  shaft  is  a  piece  of  fas- 
tidiousness in  proportion  which  I  rejoice  in  having  detected  ; 
and  this  the  more,  because  the  rude  contours  of  the  bases  them- 
selves would  little  induce  the  spectator  to  anticipate  any  such 
refinement, 

4.    DATE  OF  THE  DUOMO  OF  TORCELLO. 

The  first  flight  to  the  lagoons  for  shelter  was  caused  by  the 
invasion  of  Attila  in  the  fifth  century,  so  that  in  endeavoring 
to  throw  back  the  thought  of  the  reader  to  the  former  solitude 
of  the  islands,  I  spoke  of  them  as  they  must  have  appeared 
"1300  years  ago."  Altinum,  however,  was  not  finally  de- 
stroyed till  the  Lombard  invasion  in  641,  when  the  episcopal 
seat  was  removed  to  Torcello,  and  the  inhabitants  of  the  main- 
land city,  giving  up  all  hope  of  returning  to  their  former 
homes,  built  their  Duomo  there.  It  is  a  disputed  point  among 
Venetian  antiquarians,  whether  the  present  church  be  that 
which  was  built  in  the  seventh  century,  partially  restored  in 
1008,  or  whether  the  words  of  Sagornino,  "  ecclesiam  jam 
vestustate  consumptam  recreare,"  justify  them  in  assuming 
an  entire  rebuilding  of  the  fabric.  I  quite  agree  with  the 
March ese  Selvatico,  in  believing  the  present  church  to  be  the 
earlier  building,  variously  strengthened,  refitted,  and  modified 
by  subsequent  care  ;  but,  in  all  its  main  features,  preserving 
its  original  aspect,  except,  perhaps,  in  the  case  of  the  pulpit 
and  chancel  screen,  which,  if  the  Chevalier  Bunsen's  conclu- 
sions respecting  early  pulpits  in  the  Roman  basilicas  be  cor- 
rect (see  the  next  article  of  this  Appendix),  may  possibly  have 
been  placed  in  their  present  position  in  the  tenth  century, 
and  the  fragmentary  character  of  the  workmanship  of  the 
latter,  noticed  in  §§  x.  and  xi.,  would  in  that  case  have  been 
the  result  of  innovation,  rather  than  of  haste.    The  question. 


APPENDIX. 


379 


however,  whether  they  are  of  the  seventh  or  eleventh  century, 
does  not  in  the  least  affect  our  conclusions,  drawn  from  the 
design  of  these  portions  of  the  church,  respecting  pulpits  in 
general. 

5.   MODERN  PULPITS. 

There  is  no  character  of  an  ordinary  modern  English  church 
which  appears  to  me  more  to  be  regretted  than  the  peculiar 
pompousness  of  the  furniture  of  the  pulpits,  contrasted,  as  it 
generally  is,  with  great  meagreness  and  absence  of  color  in 
the  other  portions  of  the  church  ;  a  pompousness,  besides,  al- 
together without  grace  or  meaning,  and  dependent  merely  on 
certain  applications  of  upholstery  ;  which,  curiously  enough, 
are  always  in  worse  taste  than  even  those  of  our  drawing- 
rooms.  Nor  do  I  understand  how  our  congregations  can  en- 
dure the  aspect  of  the  wooden  sounding-board  attached  only 
by  one  point  of  its  circumference  to  an  upright  pillar  behind 
the  preacher  ;  and  looking  as  if  the  weight  of  its  enormous 
leverage  must  infallibly,  before  the  sermon  is  concluded,  tear 
it  from  its  support,  and  bring  it  down  upon  the  preacher's 
head.  These  errors  in  taste  and  feeling  will  however,  I  believe, 
be  gradually  amended  as  more  Gothic  churches  are  built  ;  but 
the  question  of  the  position  of  the  pulpit  presents  a  more  dis- 
putable ground  of  discussion.  I  can  perfectly  sympathise  with 
the  feeling  of  those  who  wish  the  eastern  extremity  of  the 
church  to  form  a  kind  of  holy  place  for  the  communion  table  ; 
nor  have  I  often  received  a  more  painful  impression  than  on 
seeing  the  preacher  at  the  Scotch  church  in  George  Street, 
Portman  Square,  taking  possession  of  a  perfect  apse  ;  and 
occupying  therein,  during  the  course  of  the  service,  very 
nearly  the  same  position  which  the  figure  of  Christ  does  in 
that  of  the  Cathedral  of  Pisa.  But  I  nevertheless  believe  that 
the  Scotch  congregation  are  perfectly  right,  and  have  restored 
the  real  arrangement  of  the  primitive  churches.  The  Cheva- 
lier Bunsen  informed  me  very  lately,  that,  in  all  the  early 
basilicas  he  has  examined,  the  lateral  pulpits  are  of  more  re- 
cent date  than  the  rest  of  the  building  ;  that  he  knows  of 
none  placed  in  the  position  which  they  now  occupy,  both  in 


sso 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


the  basilicas  and  Gothic  cathedrals,  before  the  ninth  cen< 
tury  ;  and  that  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  bishop  always 
preached  or  exhorted,  in  the  primitive  times,  from  his  throne 
in  the  centre  of  the  apse,  the  altar  being  always  set  at  the 
centre  of  the  church,  in  the  crossing  of  the  transepts.  His 
Excellency  found  by  experiment  in  Santa  Maria  Maggiore,  the 
largest  of  the  Eoman  basilicas,  that  the  voice  could  be  heard 
more  plainly  from  the  centre  of  the  apse  than  from  any  other 
spot  in  the  whole  church  ;  and,  if  this  be  so,  it  will  be  another 
very  important  reason  for  the  adoption  of  the  Komanesque 
(or  Norman)  architecture  in  our  churches,  rather  than  of  the 
Gothic.  The  reader  will  find  some  farther  notice  of  this  ques- 
tion in  the  concluding  chapter  of  the  third  volume. 

Before  leaving  this  subject,  however,  I  must  be  permitted  to 
say  one  word  to  those  members  of  the  Scotch  Church  wTho  are 
severe  in  their  requirement  of  the  nominal  or  apparent  extem- 
porization of  all  addresses  delivered  from  the  pulpit.  Whether 
they  do  right  in  giving  those  among  their  ministers  who  cannot 
preach  extempore,  the  additional  and  useless  labor  of  commit- 
ting their  sermons  to  memory,  may  be  a  disputed  question  ; 
but  it  can  hardly  be  so,  that  the  now  not  unfrequent  habit  of 
making  a  desk  of  the  Bible,  and  reading  the  sermon  stealthily, 
by  slipping  the  sheets  of  it  between  the  sacred  leaves,  so  that 
the  preacher  consults  his  own  notes  on  pretence  of  consulting 
the  Scriptures,  is  a  very  unseemly  consequence  of  their  over- 
strictness. 

6.   APSE  OF  MURANO. 

The  following  passage  succeeded  in  the  original  text  to  §  xv. 
of  Chap.  III.  Finding  it  not  likely  to  interest  the  general 
reader,  I  have  placed  it  here,  as  it  contains  matter  of  some  in- 
terest to  architects. 

"  On  this  plinth,  thus  carefully  studied  in  relations  of  mag- 
nitude, the  shafts  are  set  at  the  angles,  as  close  to  each  other  as 
possible,  as  seen  in  the  ground-plan.  These  shafts  are  founded 
on  pure  Roman  tradition  ;  their  bases  have  no  spurs,  and  the 
(shaft  itself  is  tapered  in  a  bold  curve,  according  to  the  classical 


APPENDIX. 


381 


model.  But,  in  the  adjustment  of  the  bases  to  each  other,  we 
have  a  most  curious  instance  of  the  first  beginning  of  the  Gothic 
principle  of  aggregation  of  shafts.  They  have  a  singularly 
archaic  and  simple  profile,  composed  of  a  single  cavetto  and 
roll,  which  are  circular,  on  a  square  plinth.  Now  when  these 
bases  are  brought  close  to  each  other  at  the  angles  of  the  apse, 
their  natural  position  would  be  as  in  fig.  3,  Plate  I,  leaving  an 
awkward  fissure  between  the  two  square  plinths.  This  offend- 
ed the  architect's  eye  ;  so  he  cut  part  of  each  of  the  bases 
away,  and  fitted  them  close  to  each  other,  as  in  fig.  5,  Plate  I., 
which  is  their  actual  position.  As  before  this  piece  of  rough 
harmonization  the  circular  mouldings  reached  the  sides  of  the 
squares,  they  wTere  necessarily  cut  partly  away  in  the  course  of 
the  adjustment,  and  run  into  each  other  as  in  the  figure,  so  as 
to  give  us  one  of  the  first  Venetian  instances  of  the  continuous 
Gothic  base. 

"  The  shafts  measure  on  the  average  2  ft.  8|  in.  in  circum- 
ference, at  the  base,  tapering  so  much  that  under  the  lowest 
fillet  of  their  necks  they  measure  only  2  feet  round,  though 
their  height  is  only  5  ft.  6  in.,  losing  thus  eight  inches  of  girth 
in  five  feet  and  a  half  of  height.  They  are  delicately  curved 
all  the  way  up  ;  and  are  2^  in.  apart  from  each  other  where 
they  are  nearest,  and  about  5  in.  at  the  necks  of  their  capitals.'5 

7.  EARLY  VENETIAN  DRESS. 

Sanso vino's  account  of  the  changes  in  the  dress  of  the  Vene- 
tians is  brief,  masterly,  and  full  of  interest  ;  one  or  two  pas- 
sages are  deserving  of  careful  notice,  especially  the  introduc- 
tory sentence.  "For  the  Venetians  from  their  first  origin, 
having  made  it  their  aim  to  be  peaceful  and  religious,  and  to 
keep  on  an  equality  with  one  another,  that  equality  might  in- 
duce stability  and  concord  (as  disparity  produces  confusion 
and  ruin),  made  their  dress  a  matter  of  conscience,  .  .  .  ; 
and  our  ancestors,  observant  lovers  of  religion,  upon  which  all 
their  acts  were  founded,  and  desiring  that  their  young  men 
should  direct  themselves  to  virtue,  the  true  soul  of  all  human 
action,  and  above  all  to  peace,  invented  a  dress  conformable  to 


382 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


their  gravity,  such,  that  in  clothing  themselves  with  it,  they 
might  clothe  themselves  also  with  modesty  and  honor.  And 
because  their  mind  was  bent  upon  giving  no  offence  to  any 
one,  and  living  quietly  as  far  as  might  be  permitted  them,  it 
seemed  good  to  them  to  show  to  every  one,  even  by  external 
signs,  this  their  endeavor,  by  wearing  a  long  dress,  which  was 
in  no  wise  convenient  for  persons  of  a  quick  temperament,  or 
of  eager  and  fierce  spirits." 

Eespecting  the  color  of  the  women's  dress,  it  is  noticeable 
that  blue  is  called  "  Venetian  color"  by  Cassiodorus,  translated 
"  turchino  "  by  Filiasi,  vol.  v.  chap.  iv.  It  was  a  very  pale 
blue,  as  the  place  in  which  the  word  occurs  is  the  description 
by  Cassiodorus  of  the  darkness  which  came  over  the  sun's  disk 
at  the  time  of  the  Belisarian  wars  and  desolation  of  the  Gothic 
kingdom. 

8.   INSCRIPTIONS  AT  MUBANO. 

There  are  two  other  inscriptions  on  the  border  of  the  con- 
cha ;  but  these,  being  written  on  the  soffit  of  the  face  arch, 
which,  as  before  noticed,  is  supported  by  the  last  two  shafts 
of  the  chancel,  could  not  be  read  by  the  congregation,  and  only 
with- difficulty  by  those  immediately  underneath  them.  One 
of  them  is  in  black,  the  other  in  red  letters.    The  first : 

' '  Mutat  quod  sumsit,  quod  sollat  crimina  tandit 
Et  quod  sumpsit,  vultus  vestisq.  refulsit." 

The  second  : 

"Discipuli  testes,  prophete  certa  videntes 
Et  cernunt  purum,  sibi  credunt  ese  futurum." 

I  have  found  no  notice  of  any  of  these  inscriptions  in  any  Ital- 
ian account  of  the  church  of  Murano,  and  have  seldom  seen 
even  Monkish  Latin  less  intelligible.  There  is  no  mistake  in 
the  letters,  which  are  all  large  and  clear ;  but  wrong  letters 
may  have  been  introduced  by  ignorant  restorers,  as  has  often 
happened  in  St.  Mark's. 


APPENDIX, 


9.    SHAFTS  OF   ST.  MARK. 

The  principal  pillars  which  carry  the  nave  and  transepts, 
fourteen  in  number,  are  of  white  alabaster  veined  with  grey 
and  amber  ;  each  of  a  single  block,  15  ft.  high,  and  6  ft.  2  in. 
round  at  the  base.  I  in  vain  endeavored  to  ascertain  their 
probable  value.  Every  sculptor  whom  I  questioned  on  this 
subject  told  me  there  were  no  such  pieces  of  alabaster  in  the 
market,  and  that  they  were  to  be  considered  as  without  price. 

On  the  facade  of  the  church  alone  are  two  great  ranges  of 
shafts,  seventy-two  in  the  lower  range,  and  seventy-nine  in  the 
upper  ;  all  of  porphyry,  alabaster,  and  verd-antique  or  fine 
marble ;  the  lower  about  9  ft.,  the  upper  about  7  ft.  high,  and 
of  various  circumferences,  from  4  ft.  6  in.  to  2  ft.  round. 

There  are  now  so  many  published  engravings,  and,  far  better 
than  engravings,  calotypes,  of  this  facade,  that  I  may  point 
out  one  or  two  circumstances  for  the  reader's  consideration 
without  giving  any  plate  of  it  here.  And  first,  we  ought  to 
note  the  relations  of  the  shafts  and  wall,  the  latter  being  first 
sheeted  with  alabaster,  and  then  the  pillars  set  within  two  or 
three  inches  of  it,  forming  such  a  grove  of  golden  marble  that 
the  porches  open  before  us  as  we  enter  the  church  like  glades 
in  a  deep  forest.  The  reader  may  perhaps  at  first  question 
the  propriety  of  placing  the  wall  so  close  behind  the  shafts 
that  the  latter  have  nearly  as  little  work  to  do  as  the  statues 
in  a  Gothic  porch  ;  but  the  philosophy  of  this  arrangement  is 
briefly  deducible  from  the  principles  stated  in  the  text.  The 
builder  had  at  his  disposal  shafts  of  a  certain  size  only,  not  fit 
to  sustain  the  whole  weight  of  the  fabric  above.  He  therefore 
turns  just  as  much  of  the  wail  veil  into  shaft  as  he  has  strength 
of  marble  at  his  disposal,  and  leaves  the  rest  in  its  massive 
form.  And  that  there  may  be  no  dishonesty  in  this,  nor  any 
appearance  in  the  shafts  of  doing  more  work  than  is  really 
allotted  to  them,  many- are  left  visibly  with  half  their  capitals 
projecting  beyond  the  archivolts  they  sustain,  showing  that  the 
wall  is  very  slightly  dependent  on  their  co-operation,  and  that 
many  of  them  are  little  more  than  mere  bonds  or  connecting 
rods  between  the  foundation  and  cornices.    If  any  architect 


384: 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


ventures  to  blame  sucli  an  arrangement,  let  him  look  at  our 
much  vaunted  early  English  piers  in  Salisbury  Cathedral  or 
Westminster  Abbey,  where  the  small  satellitic  shafts  are  intro- 
duced in  the  same  gratuitous  manner,  but  with  far  less  excuse 
or  reason  :  for  those  small  shafts  have  nothing  but  their  delicacy 
and  purely  theoretical  connection  with  the  archivolt  mould- 
ings to  recommend  them  ;  but  the  St.  Mark's  shafts  have  an  in- 
trinsic beauty  and  value  of  the  highest  order,  and  the  object 
of  the  whole  system  of  architecture,  as  above  stated,  is  in  great 
part  to  set  forth  the  beauty  and  value  of  the  shaft  itself. 
Now,  not  only  is  this  accomplished  by  withdrawing  it  occa- 
sionally from  servile  work,  but  the  position  here  given  to  it, 
within  three  or  four  inches  of  a  wall  from  which  it  neverthe- 
less stands  perfectly  clear  all  the  way  up,  is  exactly  that  which 
must  best  display  its  color  and  quality.  When  there  is  much 
vacant  space  left  behind  a  pillar,  the  shade  against  which  it  is 
relieved  is  comparatively  indefinite,  the  eye  passes  by  the 
shaft,  and  penetrates  into  the  vacancy.  But  when  a  broad 
surface  of  wall  is  brought  near  the  shaft,  its  own  shadow  is, 
in  almost  every  effect  of  sunshine,  so  sharp  and  dark  as  to 
throw  out  its  colors  with  the  highest  possible  brilliancy  ;  if 
there  be  no  sunshine,  the  wall  veil  is  subdued  and  varied  by 
the  most  subtle  gradations  of  delicate  half  shadow,  hardly  less 
advantageous  to  the  shaft  which  it  relieves.  And,  as  far  as 
regards  pure  effect  in  open  air  (all  artifice  of  excessive  dark- 
ness or  mystery  being  excluded),  I  do  not  know  anything 
whatsoever  in  the  whole  compass  of  the  European  architecture 
I  have  seen,  which  can  for  a  moment  be  compared  with  the 
quaint  shade  and  delicate  color,  like  that  of  Rembrandt  and 
Paul  Veronese  united,  which  the  sun  brings  out,  as  his  rays 
move  from  porch  to  porch  along  the  St.  Mark's  fagade. 

And,  as  if  to  prove  that  this  was  indeed  the  builder's  inten- 
tion, and  that  he  did  not  leave  his  shafts  idle  merely  because 
he  did  not  know  how  to  set  them  to  work  safely,  there  are 
two  pieces  of  masonry  at  the  extremities  of  the  facade,  which 
are  just  as  remarkable  for  their  frank  trust  in  the  bearing- 
power  of  the  shafts  as  the  rest  are  for  their  want  of  confidence 
in  them.    But,  before  we  come  to  these,  we  must  say  a  word 


APPENDIX. 


385 


or  two  respecting  the  second  point  named  above,  the  superior 
position  of  the  shafts. 

It  was  assuredly  not  in  the  builder's  power,  even  had  he  been 
so  inclined,  to  obtain  shafts  high  enough  to  sustain  the  whole 
external  gallery,  as  it  is  sustained  in  the  nave,  on  one  arcade. 
He  had,  as  above  noticed,  a  supply  of  shafts  of  every  sort  and 
size,  from  which  he  chose  the  largest  for  his  nave  shafts  ;  the 
smallest  were  set  aside  for  windows,  jambs,  balustrades,  sup- 
ports of  pulpits,  niches,  and  such  other  services,  every  con- 
ceivable size  occurring  in  different  portions  of  the  building  ; 
and  the  middle-sized  shafts  were  sorted  into  two  classes,  of 
which  on  the  average  one  was  about  two-thirds  the  length  of 
the  other,  and  out  of  these  the  two  stories  of  the  facade  and 
sides  of  the  church  are  composed,  the  smaller  shafts  of  course 
uppermost,  and  more  numerous  than  the  lower,  according  to 
the  ordinary  laws  of  superimposition  adopted  by  all  the 
Romanesque  builders,  and  observed  also  in  a  kind  of  archi- 
tecture quite  as  beautiful  as  any  we  are  likely  to  invent,  that 
of  forest  trees. 

Nothing  is  more  singular  than  the  way  in  which  this  kind 
of  superimposition  (the  only  right  one  in  the  case  of  shafts) 
will  shock  a  professed  architect.  He  has  been  accustomed  to 
see,  in  the  Renaissance  designs,  shaft  put  on  the  top  of  shaft, 
three  or  four  times  over,  and  he  thinks  this  quite  right ;  but 
the  moment  he  is  shown  a  properly  subdivided  superimposi- 
tion, in  which  the  upper  shafts  diminish  in  size  and  multiply 
in  number,  so  that  the  lower  pillars  would  balance  them  safely 
even  without  cement,  he  exclaims  that  it  is  "  against  law," 
as  if  he  had  never  seen  a  tree  in  his  life. 

Not  that  the  idea  of  the  Byzantine  superimposition  was 
taken  from  trees,  any  more  than  that  of  Gothic  arches.  Both 
are  simple  compliances  with  laws  of  nature,  and,  therefore, 
approximations  to  the  forms  of  nature. 

There  is,  however,  one  very  essential  difference  between 
tree  structure  and  the  shaft  structure  in  question  ;  namely, 
that  the  marble  branches,  having  no  vital  connection  with  the 
stem,  must  be  provided  with  a  firm  tablet  or  second  founda- 
tion whereon  to  stand.  This  intermediate  plinth  or  tablet 
Voi,.  II.— 25 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


runs  along  the  whole  facade  at  one  level,  is  about  eighteen 
inches  thick,  and  left  with  little  decoration  as  being  meant 
for  hard  service.  The  small  porticos,  already  spoken  of  as 
the  most  graceful  pieces  of  composition  with  which  I  am  ac- 
quainted, are  sustained  on  detached  clusters  of  four  or  five 
columns,  forming  the  continuation  of  those  of  the  upper  se- 
ries, and  each  of  these  clusters  is  balanced  on  one  grand  de- 
tached shaft  ;  as  much  trust  being  thus  placed  in  the  pillars 
here,  as  is  withdrawn  from  them  elsewhere.  The  northern 
portico  has  only  one  detached  pillar  at  its  outer  angle,  which 
sustains  three  shafts  and  a  square  pilaster  ;  of  these  shafts 
the  one  at  the  outer  angle  of  the  group  is  the  thickest  (so  as 
to  balance  the  pilaster  on  the  inner  angle),  measuring  3  ft.  2 
in.  round,  while  the  others  measure  only  2  ft.  10  in.  and  2  ft. 
11  in.  ;  and  in  order  to  make  this  increase  of  diameter,  and 
the  importance  of  the  shaft,  more  manifest  to  the  eye,  the  old 
builders  made  the  shaft  shorter  as  well  as  thicker,  increasing 
the  depth  both  of  its  capital  and  the  base,  with  what  is  to  the 
thoughtless  spectator  ridiculous  incongruity,  and  to  the  ob- 
servant one  a  most  beautiful  expression  of  constructive  genius, 
Nor  is  this  all.  Observe  :  the  whole  strength  of  this  angle 
depends  on  accuracy  of  poise,  not  on  breadth  or  strength  of 
foundation.  It  is  a  balanced,  not  a  propped  structure  :  if  the 
balance  fails,  it  must  fall  instantly  ;  if  the  balance  is  main- 
tained, no  matter  how  the  lower  shaft  is  fastened  into  the 
ground,  all  will  be  safe.  And  to  mark  this  more  definitely, 
the  great  lower  shaft  has  a  different  base  from  all  the  oilier  s  of 
the  facade,  remarkably  high  in  proportion  to  the  shaft,  on  a 
circular  instead  of  a  square  plinth,  and  ivilhout  spurs,  while 
all  the  other  bases  have  spurs  without  exception.  Glance 
back  at  what  is  said  of  the  spurs  at  p.  80  of  the  first  volume3 
and  reflect  that  all  expression  of  grasp  in  the  foot  of  the  pillar 
is  here  useless,  and  to  be  replaced  by  one  of  balance  merely, 
and  you  will  feel  what  the  old  builder  wanted  to  say  to  us, 
and  how  much  he  desired  us  to  follow  him  with  our  under- 
standing as  he  laid  stone  above  stone. 

And  this  purpose  of  his  is  hinted  to  us  once  more,  even 
by  the  position  of  this  base  in  the  ground  plan  of  the  foun- 


APPENDIX. 


3S7 


dation  of  the  portico  ;  for,  though  itself  circular,  it  sustains 
a  hexagonal  plinth  set  obliquely  to  the  watts  of  the  church, 
as  if  expressly  to  mark  to  us  that  it  did  not  matter  how 
the  base  was  set,  so  only  that  the  weights  were  justly  dis- 
posed above  it. 

10.   PROPER  SENSE  OF  THE  WORD  IDOLATRY. 

I  do  not  intend,  in  thus  applying  the  word  "Idolatry"  to 
certain  ceremonies  of  Romanist  worship,  to  admit  the  pro- 
priety of  the  ordinary  Protestant  manner  of  regarding  those 
ceremonies  as  distinctively  idolatrous,  and  as  separating  the 
Romanist  from  the  Protestant  Church  by  a  gulf  across  which 
we  must  not  look  to  our  fellow-Christians  but  with  utter  repro- 
bation and  disdain.  The  Church  of  Rome  does  indeed  distinct- 
ively violate  the  second  commandment ;  but  the  true  force 
and  weight  of  the  sin  of  idolatry  are  in  the  violation  of  the 
first,  of  which  we  are  all  of  us  guilty,  in  probably  a  very  equal 
degree,  considered  only  as  members  of  this  or  that  commun- 
ion, and  not  as  Christians  or  unbelievers.  Idolatry  is,  both 
literally  and  verily,  not  the  mere  bowing  down  before  sculpt- 
ures, but  the  serving  or  becoming  the  slave  of  any  images  or 
imaginations  which  stand  between  us  and  God,  and  it  is  other- 
wise expressed  in  Scripture  as  "  walking  after  the  Imagina- 
tion "  of  our  own  hearts.  And  observe  also  that  while,  at 
least  on  one  occasion,  we  find  in  the  Bible  an  indulgence 
granted  to  the  mere  external  and  literal  violation  of  the  second 
commandment,  "When  I  bow  myself  in  the  house  of  Rimmon, 
the  Lord  pardon  thy  servant  in  this  thing,"  we  find  no  indul- 
gence in  any  instance,  or  in  the  slightest  degree,  granted  to 
'!  covetousness,  which  is  idolatry  "  (Col.  iii.  5  ;  no  casual  asso- 
ciation of  terms,  observe,  but  again  energetically  repeated  in 
Ephesians,  v.  5,  "No  covetous  man,  who  is  an  idolater,  hath 
any  inheritance  in  the  kingdom  of  Christ ")  ;  nor  any  to  that 
denial  of  God,  idolatry  in  one  of  its  most  subtle  forms,  fol- 
lowing so  often  on  the  possession  of  that  wealth  against  which 
Agur  prayed  so  earnestly,  "Give  me  neither  poverty  nor 


388 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


riches,  lest  I  be  full  and  deny  thee,  and  say,  <  Who  is  the 
Lord?'" 

And  in  this  sense,  which  of  us  is  not  an  idolater  ?  Which 
of  us  has  the  right,  in  the  fulness  of  that  better  knowledge,  in 
spite  of  which  he  nevertheless  is  not  yet  separated  from  the 
service  of  this  world,  to  speak  scornfully  of  any  of  his  brethren, 
because,  in  a  guiltless  ignorance,  they  have  been  accustomed 
to  bow  their  knees  before  a  statue  ?  Which  of  us  shall  say 
that  there  may  not  be  a  spiritual  worship  in  their  apparent 
idolatry,  or  that  there  is  not  a  spiritual  idolatry  in  our  own 
apparent  worship  ? 

For  indeed  it  is  utterly  impossible  for  one  man  to  judge  of 
the  feeling  with  which  another  bows  down  before  an  image. 
From  that  pure  reverence  in  which  Sir  Thomas  Brown  wrote, 
"I  can  dispense  wTith  my  hat  at  the  sight  of  a  cross,  but  not 
with  a  thought  of  my  Kedeemer,"  to  the  worst  superstition  of 
the  most  ignorant  Romanist,  there  is  an  infinite  series  of 
subtle  transitions  ;  and  the  point  where  simple  reverence  and 
the  use  of  the  image  merely  to  render  conception  more  vivid, 
and  feeling  more  intense,  change  into  definite  idolatry  by  the 
attribution  of  Power  to  the  image  itself,  is  so  difficultly  deter- 
minable that  we  cannot  be  too  cautious  in  asserting  that  such 
a  change  has  actually  taken  place  in  the  case  of  any  individual. 
Even  when  it  is  definite  and  certain,  we  shall  oftener  find  it 
the  consequence  of  dulness  of  intellect  than  of  real  alienation 
of  heart  from  God  ;  and  I  have  no  manner  of  doubt  that  half 
of  the  poor  and  untaught  Christians  who  are  this  day  lying 
prostrate  before  crucifixes,  Bamhinos,  and  Yolto  Santos,  are 
finding  more  acceptance  with  God,  than  many  Protestants  who 
idolize  nothing  but  their  own  opinions  or  their  own  interests. 
I  believe  that  those  who  have  worshipped  the  thorns  of  Christ's 
crown  will  be  found  at  last  to  have  been  holier  and  wiser  than 
those  who  worship  the  thorns  of  the  world's  service,  and  that 
to  adore  the  nails  of  the  cross  is  a  less  sin  than  to  adore  the 
hammer  of  the  workman. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  though  the  idolatry  of  the  lowTer 
orders  in  the  Romish  Church  may  thus  be  frequently  excus- 
able, the  ordinary  subterfuges  by  which  it  is  defended  are  not 


APPENDIX. 


350 


so.  It  may  be  extenuated,  but  cannot  be  denied  ;  and  the 
attribution  of  power  to  the  image,*  in  which  it  consists,  i? 
not  merely  a  form  of  popular  feeling,  but  a  tenet  of  priestly 
instruction,  and  may  be  proved,  over  and  over  again,  from  any 
book  of  the  Romish  Church  services.  Take  for  instance  the 
following  prayer,  which  occurs  continually  at  the  close  of  the 
service  of  the  Holy  Cross  : 

"Saincte  vraye  Croye  aouree, 
Qui  du  corps  Dieu  f  u  aournee 
Et  de  sa  sueur  arrousee, 
Et  de  son  sane  enluminee, 
Par  ta  vertu,  par  ta  puissance, 
Defent  mon  corps  de  meschance, 
Et  montroie  moy  par  ton  playsir 
Que  vray  confes  puisse  mourir." 

*'Oh  holy,  true,  and  golden  Cross,  which  wast  adorned  with  God's 
body,  and  watered  with  His  sweat,  and  illuminated  with  His 
blood,  by  thy  healing  virtue  and  thy  power,  defend  my  body 
from  mischance  ;  and  by  thy  good  pleasure,  let  me  make  a  good 
confession  when  I  die." 

There  can  be  no  possible  defence  imagined  for  the  mere 
terms  in  which  this  prayer  and  other  such  are  couched  :  yet 
it  is  always  to  be  remembered,  that  in  many  cases  they  are 
rather  poetical  effusions  than  serious  prayers  ;  the  utterances 
of  imaginative  enthusiasm,  rather  than  of  reasonable  con- 
viction ;  and  as  such,  they  are  rather  to  be  condemned  as 
illusory  and  fictitious,  than  as  idolatrous,  nor  even  as  such, 
condemned  altogether,  for  strong  love  and  faith  are  often  the 
roots  of  them  and  the  errors  of  affection  are  better  than  the 
accuracies  of  apathy.  But  the  unhappy  results,  among  all 
religious  sects,  of  the  habit  of  allowing  imaginative  and  poeti- 

*  I  do  not  like  to  hear  Protestants  speaking  with  gro?s  and  unchari- 
table contempt  even  of  the  worship  of  relics.  Elisha  once  trusted  his 
own  staff  too  far  ;  nor  can  I  see  any  reasonable  ground  for  the  scorn,  or 
the  unkind  rebuke,  of  those  who  have  been  taught  from  their  youth 
upwards  that  to  hope  even  in  the  hem  o:  the  garment  may  sometime? 
be  better  than  to  spend  the  living  on  physicians. 


390 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


cal  belief  to  take  the  place  of  deliberate,  resolute,  and  prosaic 
belief,  have  been  fully  and  admirably  traced  by  the  author  ol 
the  'Natural  History  of  Enthusiasm." 

11.   SITUATIONS  OF  BYZANTINE  PALACES. 

(1.)  The  Terraced  House. 

The  most  conspicuous  pile  in  the  midmost  reach  of  the 
Grand  Canal  is  the  Casa  Grimani,  now  the  Post-Office.  Let- 
ting his  boat  lie  by  the  steps  of  this  great  palace,  the  traveller 
will  see,  on  the  other  side  of  the  canal,  a  building  with  a  small 
terrace  in  front  of  it,  and  a  little  court  with  a  door  to  the 
water,  beside  the  terrace.  Half  of  the  house  is  visibly 
modern,  and  there  is  a  great  seam,  like  the  edge  of  a  scar, 
between  it  and  the  ancient  remnant,  in  which  the  circular 
bands  of  the  Byzantine  arches  will  be  instantly  recognized. 
This  building  not  having,  as  far  as  I  know,  any  name  except 
that  of  its  present  proprietor,  I  shall  in  future  distinguish  it 
simply  as  the  Terraced  House. 

(2.)  Casa  Businello. 

To  the  left  of  this  edifice  (looking  from  the  Post-Office) 
there  is  a  modern  palace,  on  the  other  side  of  which  the  By- 
zantine mouldings  appear  again  in  the  first  and  second  stories 
of  a  house  lately  restored.  It  might  be  thought  that  the  shafts 
and  arches  had  been  raised  yesterday,  the  modern  walls  having 
been  deftly  adjusted  to  them,  and  ail  appearance  of  antiquity, 
together  with  the  ornamentation  and  proportions  of  the  fabric, 
having  been  entirely  destroyed.  I  cannot,  however,  speak 
with  unmixed  sorrow  of  these  changes,  since,  without  his  be- 
ing implicated  in  the  shame  of  them,  they  fitted  this  palace  to 
become  the  residence  of  the  kindest  friend  I  had  in  Venice0 
It  is  generally  known  as  the  Casa  Businello. 

(3.)  The  Braided  House. 

Leaving  the  steps  of  the  Casa  Grimani.  and  turning  the 
gondola  away  from  the  Rial  to,  we  will  pass  the  Casa  Businello, 


APPENDIX. 


and  the  three  houses  which  succeed  it  on  the  right.  TI10 
fourth  is  another  restored  palace,  white  and  conspicuous,  but 
retaining  of  its  ancient  structure  only  the  five  windows  in  its 
second  story,  and  an  ornamental  moulding  above  them  which 
appears  to  be  ancient,  though  it  is  inaccessible  without  scaf- 
folding, and  I  cannot  therefore  answer  for  it.  But  the  five 
central  windows  are  very  valuable  ;  and  as  their  capitals  differ 
from  most  that  we  find  (except  in  St.  Mark's),  in  their  plaited 
or  braided  border  and  basket-worked  sides,  I  shall  call  this 
house,  in  future,  the  Braided  House.* 

(4.)  The  Madonnetta  House. 

On  the  other  side  of  this  palace  is  the  Traghetto  called 
"  Delia  Madonnetta  ;  "  and  beyond  this  Traghetto,  still  facing 
the  Grand  Canal,  a  small  palace,  of  which  the  front  shows 
mere  vestiges  of  arcades,  the  old  shafts  only  being  visible, 
with  obscure  circular  seams  in  the  modern  piaster  which 
covers  the  arches.  The  side  of  it  is  a  curious  agglomeration 
of  pointed  and  round  windows  in  every  possible  position,  and 
of  nearly  every  date  from  the  twelfth  to  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury. It  is  the  smallest  of  the  buildings  we  have  to  examine, 
but  by  no  means  the  least  interesting  :  I  shall  call  it,  from  the 
name  of  its  Traghetto,  the  Madonnetta  House. 

(5.)  The  Rio  Foscari  House. 

We  must  now  descend  the  Grand  Canal  as  far  as  the  Palazzo 
Foscari,  and  enter  the  narrower  canal,  called  the  Rio  di  Ca' 
Foscari,  at  the  side  of  that  palace.  Almost  immediately  after 
passing  the  great  gateway  of  the  Foscari  courtyard,  we  shall 
see  on  our  left,  in  the  ruinous  and  time-stricken  walls  which 
totter  over  the  water,  the  white  curve  of  a  circular  arch  cov- 
ered with  sculpture,  and  fragments  of  the  bases  of  small  pil- 
lars, entangled  among  festoons  of  the  Erba  della  Madonna.  I 
have  already,  in  the  folio  plates  which  accompanied  the  first 
volume,  partly  illustrated  this  building.  In  what  references  I 
have  to  make  to  it  here,  I  shall  speak  of  it  as  the  Rio  Fosca^ 
House, 

*  Casa  Tiepolo  (V)  in  Lazaris  Guide. 

^ 


392 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


(6.)  Cam  Far  set  H. 

We  have  now  to  reascend  the  Grand  Canal,  and  approach 
the  Rialto.  As  soon  as  we  have  passed  the  Casa  Griruani,  the 
traveller  will  recognize,  on  his  right,  two  rich  and  extensive 
masses  of  building,  which  form  important  objects  in  almost 
every  picturesque  view  of  the  noble  bridge.  Of  these,  the  fbst, 
that  farthest  from  the  Eialto,  retains  great  part  of  its  ancient 
materials  in  a  dislocated  form.  It  has  been  entirely  modern- 
ized in  its  upper  stories,  but  the  ground  floor  and  first  floor 
have  nearly  all  their  original  shafts  and  capitals,  only  they  have 
been  shifted  hither  and  thither  to  give  room  for  the  introduc- 
tion of  various  small  apartments,  and  present,  in  consequence, 
marvellous  anomalies  in  proportion.  This  building  is  known 
in  Venice  as  the  Casa  Farsetti. 

(7.)  Casa  Loredan. 

The  one  next  to  it,  though  not  conspicuous,  and  often  passed 
with  neglect,  will,  I  believe,  be  felt  at  last,  by  all  who  examine 
it  carefully,  to  be  the  most  beautiful  palace  in  the  whole  ex- 
tent of  the  Grand  Canal.  It  has  been  restored  often,  once  in 
the  Gothic,  once  in  the  Renaissance  times, — some  writers  say, 
even  rebuilt ;  but,  if  so,  rebuilt  in  its  old  form,  The  Gothic 
additions  harmonize  exquisitely  with  its  Byzantine  work,  and 
it  is  easy,  as  we  examine  its  lovely  central  arcade,  to  forget 
the  Renaissance  additions  which  encumber  it  above.  It  is 
known  as  the  Casa  Loredan. 

The  eighth  palace  is  the  Fondaeo  de'  Turchi,  described  in 
the  text.  A  ninth  existed,  more  interesting  apparently  than 
any  of  these,  near  the  Church  of  San  Moise,  but  it  was  thrown 
down  in  the  course  of  "  improvements  "  a  few  years  ago.  A 
woodcut  of  it  is  given  in  M.  Lazari's  Guide. 

12.   MODERN  PAINTING  ON  GLASS. 

Of  all  the  various  principles  of  art  which,  in  modern  days, 
we  have  defied  or  forgotten,  none  are  more  indisputable,  and 
few  of  more  practical  importance  than  this,  which  I  shall  hav« 


APPENDIX. 


393 


occasion  again  and  again  to  allege  in  support  of  many  future 
deductions  : 

"All  art,  working  with  given  materials,  must  propose  to 
itself  the  objects  which,  with  those  materials,  are  most  per* 
fectly  attainable  ;  and  becomes  illegitimate  and  debased  if  it 
propose  to  itself  any  other  objects,  better  attainable  with  other 
materials. " 

Thus,  great  slenderness,  lightness,  or  intricacy  of  structure, 
— as  in  ramifications  of  trees,  detached  folds  of  drapery,  or 
wreaths  of  hair, — is  easily  and  perfectly  expressible  in  metal- 
work  or  in  painting,  but  only  with  great  difficulty  and  imper- 
fectly expressible  in  sculpture.  All  sculpture,  therefore,  which 
professes  as  its  chief  end  the  expression  of  such  characters,  is 
debased  ;  and  if  the  suggestion  of  them  be  accidentally  re- 
quired of  it,  that  suggestion  is  only  to  be  given  to  an  extent 
compatible  with  perfect  ease  of  execution  in  the  given  material, 
not  to  the  utmost  possible  extent.  For  instance  :  some  of  the 
most  delightful  drawings  of  our  own  water-color  painter,  Hunt, 
have  been  of  birds'  nests  ;  of  which,  in  painting,  it  is  perfectly 
possible  to  represent  the  intricate  fibrous  or  mossy  structure  ; 
therefore,  the  effort  is  a  legitimate  one,  and  the  art  is  well 
employed.  But  to  carve  a  bird's  nest  out  of  marble  would  be 
physically  impossible,  and  to  reach  any  approximate  expres- 
sion of  its  structure  would  require  prolonged  and  intolerable 
labor.  Therefore,  all  sculpture  which  set  itself  to  carving  birds' 
nests  as  an  end,  or  which,  if  a  bird's  nest  were  required  of  it, 
carved  it  to  the  utmost  possible  point  of  realization,  would  be 
debased.  Nothing  but  the  general  form,  and  as  much  of  the 
fibrous  structure  as  could  be  with  perfect  ease  represented, 
ought  to  be  attempted  at  all. 

But  more  than  this.  The  workman  has  not  done  his  duty, 
and  is  not  working  on  safe  principles,  unless  he  even  so  far 
honors  the  materials  with  which  he  is  working  as  to  set  himself 
to  bring  out  their  beauty,  and  to  recommend  and  exalt,  as  far 
as  he  can,  their  peculiar  qualities.  If  he  is  working  in  marble, 
he  should  insist  upon  and  exhibit  its  transparency  and  solidity  ; 
if  in  iron,  its  strength  and  tenacity  ;  if  in  gold,  its  ductility  ; 
and  he  will  invariably  find  the  material  grateful,  and  that  his 


394 


THE  STONES  OE  VENICE. 


work  is  all  the  nobler  for  being  eulogistic  of  the  substance  of 
which  it  is  made.  But  of  all  the  arts,  the  working  of  glass  is 
that  in  which  we  ought  to  keep  these  principles  most  vigor- 
ously in  mind.  For  we  owe  it  so  much,  and  the  possession 
of  it  is  so  great  a  blessing,  that  all  our  work  in  it  should  be 
completely  and  forcibly  expressive  of  the  peculiar  characters 
wrhich  give  it  so  vast  a  value. 

These  are  two,  namely,  its  ductility  when  heated,  and 
tkansparency  wdien  cold,  both  nearly  perfect.  In  its  employ- 
ment for  vessels,  we  ought  always  to  exhibit  its  ductility,  and 
in  its  employment  for  windows,  its  transparency.  All  work 
in  glass  is  bad  wThich  does  not,  with  loud  voice,  proclaim  one 
or  other  of  these  great  qualities. 

Consequently,  all  cat  glass  is  barbarous  :  for  the  cutting 
conceals  its  ductility,  and  confuses  it  with  crystal.  Also,  all 
very  neat,  finished,  and  perfect  form  in  glass  is  barbarous  :  for 
this  fails  in  proclaiming  another  of  its  great  virtues  ;  namely, 
the  ease  with  which  its  light  substance  can  be  moulded  or 
blown  into  any  form,  so  long  as  perfect  accuracy  be  not  re- 
quired. In  metal,  which,  even  when  heated  enough  to  be 
thoroughly  malleable,  retains  yet  such  weight  and  consistency 
as  render  it  susceptible  of  the  finest  handling  and  retention 
of  the  most  delicate  form,  great  precision  of  workmanship  is 
admissible  ;  but  in  glass,  which  when  once  softened  must  be 
blown  or  moulded,  not  hammered,  and  which  is  liable  to  lose, 
by  contraction  or  subsidence,  the  fineness  of  the  forms  given 
to  it,  no  delicate  outlines  are  to  be  attempted,  but  only  such 
fantastic  and  fickle  grace  as  the  mind  of  the  workman  can  con- 
ceive and  execute  on  the  instant.  The  more  wild,  extravagant, 
and  grotesque  in  their  gracefulness  the  forms  are,  the  better. 
No  material  is  so  adapted  for  giving  full  play  to  the  imagina- 
tion, but  it  must  not  be  wrought  with  refinement  or  painful- 
ness,  still  less  with  costliness.  For  as  in  gratitude  we  are  to 
proclaim  its  virtues,  so  in  all  honesty  we  are  to  confess  its  im- 
perfections ;  and  wdiile  we  triumphantly  set  forth  its  trans- 
parency, we  are  also  frankly  to  admit  its  fragility,  and  there- 
fore not  to  waste  much  time  upon  it,  nor  put  any  real  art  into 
it  when  intended  for  daily  use.     No  workman  ought  ever 


APPENDIX. 


895 


to  spend  more  than  an  hour  in  the  making  of  any  glass  ves- 
sel. 

Next  in  the  case  of  windows,  the  points  which  we  have  to 
insist  upon  are,  the  transparency  of  the  glass  and  its  suscepti- 
bility of  the  most  brilliant  colors  ;  and  therefore  the  attempt  to 
turn  painted  windows  into  pretty  pictures  is  one  of  the  most 
gross  and  ridiculous  barbarisms  of  this  pre-eminently  bar- 
barous century.  It  originated,  I  suppose,  with  the  Germans, 
who  seem  for  the  present  distinguished  among  European 
nations  by  the  loss  of  the  sense  of  color  ;  but  it  appears  of  late 
to  have  considerable  chance  of  establishing  itself  in  England : 
and  it  is  a  two-edged  error,  striking  in  two  directions  ;  first 
at  the  healthy  appreciation  of  painting,  and  then  at  the  healthy 
appreciation  of  glass.  Color,  ground  with  oil,  and  laid  on  a 
solid  opaque  ground,  furnishes  to  the  human  hand  the  most 
exquisite  means  of  expression  which  the  human  sight  and  in- 
vention can  find  or  require.  By  its  twTo  opposite  qualities, 
each  naturally  and  easily  attainable,  of  transparency  in  shadow 
and  opacity  in  light,  it  complies  with  the  conditions  of  nature  ; 
and  by  its  perfect  govern ableness  it  permits  the  utmost  pos- 
sible fulness  and  subtlety  in  the  harmonies  of  color,  as  well 
as  the  utmost  perfection  in  the  drawing.  Glass,  considered 
as  a  material  for  a  picture,  is  exactly  as  bad  as  oil  paint  is 
good.  It  sets  out  by  reversing  the  conditions  of  nature,  by 
making  the  lights  transparent  and  the  shadows  opaque  ;  and 
the  ungovernableness  of  its  color  (changing  in  the  furnace), 
and  its  violence  (being  always  on  a  high  key,  because  produced 
by  actual  light),  render  it  so  disadvantageous  in  every  way 
that  the  result  of  working  in  it  for  pictorial  effect  would  in- 
fallibly be  the  destruction  of  all  the  appreciation  of  the  noble 
qualities  of  pictorial  color. 

In  the  second  place,  this  modern  barbarism  destroys  the 
true  appreciation  of  the  qualities  of  glass.  It  denies,  and  en- 
deavors as  far  as  possible  to  conceal,  the  transparency,  which 
is  not  only  its  great  virtue  in  a  merely  utilitarian  point  of 
view,  but  its  great  spiritual  character  ;  the  character  by  which 
in  church  architecture  it  becomes  most  touchingly  impressive, 
as  typical  of  the  entrance  of  the  Holy  Spirit  into  the  heart  of 


396 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


man  ;  a  typical  expression  rendered  specific  and  intense  hy 
the  purity  and  brilliancy  of  its  sevenfold  hues  ;  *  and  therefore 
in  endeavoring  to  turn  the  window  into  a  picture,  wTe  at  once 
tose  the  sanctity  and  power  of  the  noble  material,  and  employ 
it  to  an  end  which  is  utterly  impossible  it  should  ever  worthily 
attain.  The  true  perfection  of  a  painted  window  is  to  be  se- 
rene, intense,  brilliant,  like  flaming  jewellery  ;  full  of  easily- 
legible  and  quaint  subjects,  and  exquisitely  subtle,  yet  simple, 
in  its  harmonies.  In  a  word,  this  perfection  has  been  con- 
summated in  the  designs,  never  to  be  surpassed,  if  ever  again 
to  be  approached  by  human  art,  of  the  French  windows  of 
the  twelfth  and  thirteenth  centuries. 

*  I  do  not  think  that  there  is  anything  more  necessary  to  the  progress 
of  European  art  in  the  present  day  than  the  complete  understanding  of 
this  sanctity  of  Color.  I  had  much  pleasure  in  finding  it,  the  other  day* 
fully  understood  and  thus  sweetly  expressed  in  a  little  volume  of  poems 
by  a  Miss  Maynard  : 

11  For  still  in  every  land,  though  to  Thy  name 
Arose  no  temple, — still  in  every  age, 
Though  heedless  man  had  quite  forgot  Thy  praise, 
We  praise  Thee  ;  and  at  rise  and  set  of  sun 
Did  we  assemble  duly,  and  intone 
A  choral  hymn  that  all  the  lands  might  hear. 
In  heaven,  on  earth,  and  in  the  deep  we  praised  Th@e, 
Singly,  or  mingled  in  sweet  sisterhood. 
But  now,  acknowledged  ministrants,  we  come, 
Co-worshippers  with  man  in  this  Thy  house, 
We,  the  Seven  Daughters  of  the  Light,  to  praise 
Thee,  Light  of  Light !    Thee,  God  of  very  God  !  " 

A  Bream  of  Fair  Colors. 

These  poems  seem  to  be  otherwise  remarkable  for  a  very  unobtrusive 
and  pure  religious  feeling  in  subjects  connected  with  art. 


^ 


